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A Genuine Ghost Story Theodora Kyle . . . 243 

The Life of the People as Given in the 

Northern Tales of William Morris 247 

Valentine Clara Brewster Potwin . . 257 

Over the Mud Cakes 257 

A Truant's Afternoon 259 

Violets Florence Annette Wing, '92 . . 263 

The Decision of a College Girl 263 

Agnes Sinclair Holbrook .... Florence Wilkinson . . . 267 

Not a Pastel in Prose Mary Arnold Petrie . . . 269 

Editorials 271 

Book Keviews 277 

Books Keceived 281 

Exchanges 281 

College Bulletin 284 

Society Notes 285 

College Notes 286 

Alumnae Notes 290 

Marriages 292 

Births 293 

Deaths 293 

idol id - -JFebruar^ t897 — mo. 5 

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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. V. WELLESLEY, FEBRUARY 23, 1897. No. 5. 









The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

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In spite of the fact that I have never belonged to a psychological 
society whose business it was to ferret out wraiths and phantoms, I have 
always cherished a few ghosts — done them up in lavender, so to speak. I 
like all varieties of apparitions, from that dusky-mantled Samuel whom the 
witch of Endor did not summon, down to Poe's unhappy Madeleine, whom 
they put " living in the tomb." One day, not so long ago, I made a valua- 
ble addition to my collection of ghost stories. Having the tale at second- 
hand it is quite impossible for me to be accurate in the setting or various 
details ; yet, as the main outlines are true, it is quite allowable for my 
readers to give themselves up to the luxury of cold shivers or any other 
accessory of a genuine ghost story. 

Once upon a time, perhaps five or six years ago, an American family 
was traveling in Germany. By a series of accidents they happened upon a 


quaint little town far from the beaten roads of travel. It had ivy-grown 
ruined walls and was overshadowed by an ivy-grown ruined castle. The 
streets were unevenly paved and absurdly crooked. The houses were 
rich with carving, and they had oriel windows, tiled roofs, and high, over- 
hanging gables. There were antique churches, grotesque fountains, and 
images of the saints galore. But best of all the folk were as quaint as the 
town, and not a tourist, with his telltale Baedeker peeping from his pocket, 
was to be seen. There is some German legend that tells of a wicked 
city which found it a bore and bother to keep holy one day from every 
seven. So the people decided to devote to their religious duties only one 
day in a century. And the gods were angry, and the wicked city was swal- 
lowed up, like proud Korah's troops. But one day in a hundred years the 
buried city rises to the surface, and until twelve that night the doomed 
burghers prosecute the trades for which they sold their souls. Our Ameri- 
can travelers wondered if the seventeenth of July were not the fatal date, and 
this quiet German town into which they had come, the unhappy city; for 
in all their travels they had found nothing so mediaeval, not even Eisenach 
or Nuremberg. 

They had some difficulty finding an inn ; so when mine host said there 
were no rooms at the Golden Eagle, they felt somewhat perturbed. But he 
had no intention of losing such a goodly party ; he was only slow in revealing 
his plans, like Providence. By degrees he explained that the inn was often 
filled, but the Schloss never ; so he made an inn of that, and a good one it 
was, too. Our friends felt dubious as to their German when he talked of 
sending them to a castle, but questioning proved that such was really his 
plan. So there being a romantic person or two in the company, and more- 
over nothing else to do, the travelers accepted the guide the innkeeper chose 
and drove off, like Don Quixote, in search of adventure. 

Up the steep hillsides the horses toiled, the road winding about, shut in 
with oaks and chestnuts and a tangle of bushes and ferns. It made one think 
of the forest the good fairy caused to grow up around the palace of the Sleep- 
ing Beauty. Finally they reached the top, and passing under a ruined arch- 
way found themselves in the castle court. The buildings had once surrounded 
the court on three sides ; now all was in ruins save one wing. From the 
entrance to that portion came a little old woman. She wore a big bunch of 


keys, and made innumerable courtesies. Something seemed to disturb her, 
however, for twice she was overheard murmuring to the innkeeper's boy: 
"Why did they come to-night? This is the seventeenth of July!" 

Dame Barbara left her guests in her own simple quarters while she 
prepared their rooms ; then she led the way through the dim, silent corridors. 
A blazing fire and several candles made the sitting room cheerful. There 
were tapestry-hung walls, an oak-paneled ceiling, and a high carven chimney- 
piece, with above it a coat of arms. The cloth was laid for supper, and it 
seemed as if even sour milk and pumpernickel must taste delicious served 
from the quaint-figured china. It was all very cozy, if they were in a ruined 
castle, the travelers thought ; and then what an experience to sleep in the 
stronghold of a long line of barons ! If they had not been so thoroughly 
tired from a hard day's journey, I doubt not they would have sat far into the 
night around the embers of their fire, tellinir weird tales and iniasrinino- all 
sorts of fantasies such as a hoary ruin should bring up to us spick and span, 
varnished Americans. But even the romantic young lady was too drowsy for 
the briefest of reveries ; so it happened that at an early hour each one was 
slumbering peacefully beneath his light mountain of fluffy down. 

In this American party there was a very young gentleman. He was 
no Lord Fauntleroy, however; in fact, he bore a much closer resemblance 
to Blanche Amory's " pretty baby brother." He was accustomed to a glass 
of milk at some unearthly hour of the night. Usually this requirement 
was foreseen and provided for, but somehow, during this unusual evening, 
the milk had been forgotten. Toward midnight every one was made aware 
that this was an exceedingly unfortunate omission. After ringing several 
times to no effect, some one volunteered to go to Dame Barbara's room. It 
seemed rather gruesome wandering through those dark, lonely passages, and 
the girl was glad when she reached the end of her journey. Imagine her 
surprise to find the place quite empty and the bed undisturbed. Dame 
Barbara had gone elsewhere for the night. A wee, shriveled old woman 
could scarcely be much protection, yet somehow our friend's heart sank 
within her, and it was not merely on account of the imperious young gen- 
tleman, who, by the way, had dropped off to sleep the instant the door 
closed behind her. 

Just then the slow, deep tones of a village clock began to toll the 


hour of twelve, and half unconsciously the girl pulled aside the curtain. 
How stately the gray ruin looked in the mellow moonlight ! Hark ! what 
was that? As the last stroke of midnight died away there came a long, 
silvery note that made one think of elfin music. She glanced toward the 
road, but its windings were hidden by the trees. The clattering of horses' 
hoofs, however, came nearer and nearer, and presently beneath the arched 
gateway rode a brilliant cavalcade. There were knights with long plumes and 
glittering armor ; fair ladies in quaint headdresses and embroidered cloaks ; 
richly caparisoned horses, and hosts of attendants in strange, picturesque 
garbs. With shouts and merry laughter they passed across the courtyard. 
Lo ! the whole castle was ablaze with lights to receive them. Where were 
the gi'ay ruins now ? Each bastion and battlement was in the prime of its 
strength, and from every turret waved a pennon. 

The girl stayed no longer. Snatching her candle she made the best of 
her way to her friends. The moonlight flooded the room, and showed their 
awestruck faces ; they, too, had seen the cavalcade. 

And now the castle was filled with sounds of revelry. There was 
music, crashing of glasses, and the sound of dancing feet. But see ! 
through the open gateway rides at full speed a knight; he is all in sable, 
and his visor is down. One hears him and his followers as with clashing 
armor they stride through the halls. These are unlike the other revellers. 
Still the music, and dancing, and drinking of healths go on. Suddenly a 
sound is heard as of a heavy door thrown violently open. The music stops, 
and there is confusion and uproar. Hoarse shouts are heard, the clashing 
of swords, dull thuds as of bodies hurled to the wall, and the cries of 
women. The din grows madder and madder, echoing and i - e-echoing 
through the halls of the castle. Finally, at the height of the uproar, one 
wild, ringing shriek is heard, — the shriek of a woman, — and then all is 

So still it is that for a moment no one dare break the silence. Then 
some one points to the window. There are the gray ruins, calm and stately 
in the mellow moonlight. Has it all been a dream? just a midnight fantasy? 

In the morning Dame Barbara appeared, with many courtesies and the 
breakfast. She hoped they hadn't needed her in the nighttime ; her grand- 


daughter had been ill, and she was obliged to leave her post of duty. And did 
they leave that day? Perhaps, then, they would like to see the rest of the 
castle ? So they followed her through cobweb-hung corridors and up and 
down winding stairways. Lastly they came to a great hall, which, from the 
view, seemed directly above their rooms of the night before. The dust was 
thick everywhere, and an indefinable something made them feel that they were 
wrongfully invading the precincts of the past. Old Barbara was shivering, 
too. There was a story connected with this place, she said, of a baron's 
lovely daughter. On the wedding evening, when they were dancing in this 
very hall, a disappointed lover had rushed in and stabbed the bridegroom to 
the heart. The bride had uttered a terrible cry and fallen dead beside her 
husband. She paused, crossed herself, and then continued, her voice sink- 
ing to a whisper : "And they say that every seventeenth of July — that was 
the wedding night — the ghosts come back, and the wedding and murder 
take place just as they did three hundred years ago ! " 

But the horses were coming up the hill, to take the travelers away. In 
a few minutes they had looked their last on the melancholy ruin and the 
quaint village beneath. As the last tower faded from sight, the sage of the 
party was heard murmuring some words from his favorite, Dr. Johnson : — 

"That the dead are seen no more, I will not undertake to maintain 
against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages and all nations. 
This opinion, which, perhaps, prevails as far as human nature is diffused, 
could become universal only by its truth ; those that never heard of one 
another would not have agreed in a tale which nothing but experience can 
make credible." 

Theodora Kyle. 


William Morris could find nothing in the nineteenth century to satisfy 
his artistic and poetic cravings. By the side of modern vulgarity, conven- 
tionality, ugliness, and oppression, he could see nothing beautiful or true. 
He took no delight in lovely English parks, and country houses, and castles, 
because beside them, in his mind's eye, he saw always the wretched hut of 


the day laborer, or the crowded, noisy rooms of the factory. He found no 
comfort in the beauty of the daintily nurtured English girl, or in the bold 
spirit and splendid physique of her brother. He could not see them for the 
faces of men made hideous by servility or stupidity and cringing fear. He 
belonged to the time when all the world was young and more care-free. He 
was like Ogier the Dane, come back to live with a degenerate posterity. 
"Born out of his due time," he found his days empty and valueless. 

From the vacancy of the present he turned to other times for the tales 
that he should tell. In those times he sought for the beauty and the fear- 
lessness of which he felt the lack. He sang of Jason, Alcestis, Venus, 
Cupid, and Psyche, or he turned to the north and told tales of Sigurd, 
Gudrun, and Brynhilde. If he grew tired of retelling old stories he let his 
imagination go free, and built against ancient backgrounds such beautiful 
stories as "The Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon," or "The 
Wood Beyond the World," or " The Glittering Plain." Occasionally he 
drew the grotesquely hideous, like the dwarfs in " The Wood Beyond the 
World " ; but rarely did he give us anything as wretched or unsightly as 
the old hag and her murderer husband in "The Fostering of Aslaug." He 
tells one beautiful tale after another, until the mind of the listener fairly 
wearies of the delights of the senses. 

With the true pagan element in his nature, Morris painted easily scenes 
from both northern and southern mythologies, yet he sympathized most 
thoroughly with the northern peoples. In all, he gave us stories of three 
distinct periods, — the mythological, the early Teutonic, and the Peasant Re- 
volt in England. He told the story of the ancient heroes in " Sigurd the 
Volsung" and "The Fostering of Aslaug." He showed us the men of the 
Mark in the " House of the Wolfings," and he gave us the motif of the rising 
of the peasants in " The Dream of John Ball." He had the spirit of one of 
the old Vikings. He loved the fearless life and adventures of the northern 
heroes and markmen, and he rejoiced in the fierce spirit of independence 
with which the English peasants rebelled against the exactions of the nobles. 

Morris, however, loved the northern tales, not only for the breezy air 
of freedom that blew through them, but also for the opportunities they gave 
him for painting beautiful pictures. "Sigurd the Volsung" and "The 
Fostering of Aslaug " are stories of the old sagas transfigured. They, the 


old and the new versions, are like the same landscape before and after 
the sunrise. There are the same men, houses, trees, and water; but over 
the one is the gray light of early dawn, and over the other shine the golden 
rays of the sun, while the colors of the sunrise glow in the sky. 

In the old saga women are dismissed with the word fair. Compare with 
this meagre description Morris's Queen Gudrun : — 

"And there is Gudrun, his daughter, and light she stands by the board, 
And fair are her arms in the hall as the beaker's flood is poured. 
She comes and the earls keep silence: she smiles and men rejoice; 
She speaks and the harps, unsmitten, thrill faint to her queenly voice." 

Or with his Aslaug, 

"She stood; one gleaming lock of gold 
Strayed from her fair head's plaited fold 
Full far below her girdlestead; 
And round about her shapely head 
A garland of dog violet 
And wind-flowers sweetly had she set. 

Of willows was her only belt; 
And each as he gazed at her felt 
As some gift had been given him." 

Or compare the two descriptions of the entrance of Odin into the wed- 
ding feast of Signy. In the old saga it is, " Whereas men sat by the fires in 
the evening, a certain man came into the hall, unknown of aspect to all men ; 
and such like array he had that over him was a spotted cloak ; and he was 
barefoot, and had linen breeches knit tight even to the bone ; and he had a 
sword in his hand as he went up to the Branstock, and a slouched hat upon 
his head ; huge he was, and seeming ancient and one-eyed." In Morris's 
verson it is rendered, — 

"Then into the Volsung dwelling, a mighty man there strode, 
One-eyed, and seeming ancient, yet bright his vision glowed; 
Cloud blue was the hood upon him, and his kirtle gleaming gray 
As the latter morning sundog, when the storm is on the way." 

The most striking example, however, of this power of the imagination 
is one too long to quote here. It is the description of the birth of Sigurd. 
Out of the bald statement of the sajja of the birth of the Volsuno; and of the 
giving of his name, Morris makes a beautiful scene of the maternal love and 
pride, and of the joy for a man-child born into the world. 


In the " House of the Wolfings," Morris indulges still in the love of form 
and color. The Word-Sun is radiant with more than earthly beauty. The 
Hall-Sun, with her slender figure and lovely dark hair and gray eyes, moves 
about the hall of the Wolfings tending her lamp, or utters prophetic visions 
as the men depart for the war. Yet here Morris revels more in a beauty of an- 
other kind, — in the beauty of unmarred fearlessness and friendliness. Out 
of the scanty records of the Marklands, Morris has woven a beautiful tale of 
the free. In the hall of the Wolfings dwell all the men and women of the 
Wolfings, and no one rules except by wisdom and courage. In the Thing of 
the Mark meet all the men of the Mark, and no one is chief except he be 
called by the voice of the people. There is no struggling or envying among 
them, because there seems to be no fear. The men of the Mark embody, in 
reality, the life for which John Ball looked "where man shall help man, and 
the saints in heaven shall be glad because men shall no more fear each other." 

In the " Dream of John Ball," the poet looks from the picturesque ness of 
the scene to the friendliness and gay independence of the people, and he 
knows not which he loves more. His fancy delights in the trimness and 
neatness of the fields, the fresh carvings of the chancel of the church, the 
quaint devices and decorations in the houses of the people, even in the em- 
broidered collar and wrist bands of the black gown he finds upon himself. 
He stops even in the midst of his dream and wonders at the sti'ange beauty 
of his surroundings ; and he contrasts with it, in his own mind, the sordid- 
ness which surrounded his waking hours in London. He rests in the frank 
hospitality of the people, in their undaunted courage and confidence before 
the fight, and in their devotion to the Fellowship, with a content that is all 
the deeper because he knows that he is separated by only the thinness of 
a dream from days where little of these are to be found. 

In the central picture of the tale, however, he adds to these a spiritual 
beauty which he seldom reaches elsewhere. Against a glowing, late after- 
noon sky stands the figure of a cross bearing on its upper part a crucifix set 
among leaves. In front of the cross, and on the octagonal platform upon 
which it rests, is a tall dark figure crowned by a tonsured head. Out of the 
smooth ascetic face look strangely fascinating eyes. By turns they light up 
with a kindly smile as they catch the glance of a comrade, and by turns they 
gaze far away into the distance as if they saw strange visions. Around the 


foot of the cross is gathered a motley crowd of men with upturned faces, in- 
tent upon the words of the prophet figure before them. The blues and reds 
and greens of their costumes show brightly in the beams of the low sun. In 
the forefront of the crowd, in a dark robe, is Morris's own spirit rapt in ad- 
miration of the man he has called up from the past. The face of the warrior 
priest glows with unworldly beauty, as he talks to them of the Fellowship, 
the fellowship of Holy Church, to which none who oppress, none but the 
brothers of Piers Plowman, can belong. 

"And fellowship," he says, " is heaven, and lack of fellowship is hell ; 
and fellowship is life, and lack of fellowship is death." These words are the 
keynote of the book. To it they give the spiritual beauty of a love that 
seeketh not her own, " but goes even unto death for the sake of the brothers 
in danger." 

Thus over the stories of the great Volsung, the Wolfings, and the peas- 
ant, Morris has thrown the strong light of his imagination. He has clothed 
their bare outline with a beauty of form, and sound, and color ; warmed 
them with love, and developed the strong, fearless spirit of their freedom. 
He allows nothing to remain ugly. With the keen eyes of his sympathy, he 
sees the lovely and the true underneath, and with loving care he brings it to 
the light. 

When Morris has laid such a stress on the beauty and the fearlessness to 
be found in the tales that he tells, the question arises whether he has ex- 
pressed the true life of the people. 

Into the story of " Sigurd the Volsung," the nineteenth century has in- 
serted at least one line. In the time of the old Volsunga Saga, the people 
meant the kings with their women and fighting men. All below were ig- 
nored or scorned. The thrall alone is mentioned in the epic, and he is used 
only to contrast his cowardice with the courage of the red men. Yet into 
the story of " Sigurd the Volsung," this line has crept, "There no great 
store had the franklin and enough the hireling had." In the times of the 
saga the kings of men did not think anything about the franklins and hire- 
lings. The bards would never have allowed men so insignificant to appear 
in the sonars of the heroes. 

Morris's Sigurd, too, forgets to avenge his father's death before he goes 
to slay the dragon Fafnir. In the saga this is his first care. It is the great- 


est point of honor with the northern heroes to demand satisfaction for the 
blood of their kin. That passion of the heart which was strong enough to 
make Signy, the woman, forget her loyalty to her husband, her womanly 
shame, and her love for her own children, could not have been lacking in the 
most perfect of heroes. When Morris's Sigurd omits this first of all duties, 
he proves that he was not horn in mythological times. 

In comparing the two stories of the Volsunga Saga and " Sigurd the Vol- 
sung" as wholes, however, there are two great differences to be noted. The 
first of these is that the coarseness and brutality of the elder version are toned 
down in the later tale. The Volsunga Saga gives strong evidence that the 
greed of gold was an acknowledged motive in the minds of the greatest of 
heroes. The reason for the slaying of Regin, which was most strongly urged 
by the birds to Sigurd, was that the death of his old master would give him 
Fafnir's gold. The old epic of Beowulf further proves this characteristic. 
Beowulfs last struggle was with a dragon for the gold which he guarded. 
This coarse greed animates Siggeir and Atli in Morris's poem, but it never 
is allowed to approach Sigurd. The birds do not even hint it to the ideal 

In the old saga brutality is one of the most prominent characteristics. 
Signy tries the fortitude of each of the three sons that she sends to Sigmund, 
by sewing gloves on their hands through the skin and flesh, and then by tear- 
ing them off, so as to draw the skin with them. She herself orders the death 
of the small sons of Siggeir, when they do not come up to Sigmund's stand- 
ard of courage, and Sigmund performs the deed with alacrity. Morris, how- 
ever, tolerates no such barbarity. Siggeir and his household are wiped out 
of existence to avenge the life of Volsung. Sigurd pays with his life for the 
troth plight broken with Brynhilde ; but all unnecessary and excessive brutal- 
ity is smoothed away. The test which his Signy gives to her children is 
their power of looking into Sigmund's eyes without fear. She sends only 
one of Siggeir's children, and when he fails to meet Sigmund's requirements, 
he is safely returned to his mother. This softening of the brutality makes 
Morris's poem in this respect more noble, but it also renders it less true to 
the real life of the people. 

The second great difference between the two stories is in the part played 
by the love motif. In the Volsunga Saga the love is fierce and eager, but 


it takes not at all from the valor of the kings. It is but an episode, though 
a great one, in the course of their glory. In the Sigurd it has received just 
a breath from the South. It has become slightly languishing, voluptuous. 
It clouds the spirit of the heroes and interrupts a little the course of the narra- 
tive. This distinction is brought out in the two descriptions of Brynhilde after 
the slaying of Sigurd. In the Volsunga Saga, — 

" By a pillar she stood 
And strained its wood to her. 
From the eyes of Brynhilde, 
Birdh's daughter, 
Flashed out fire, 
And she snorted forth venom 
As the sore wound she gazed on 
Of the dead slain Sigurd." 

But in Morris's story, — 

" Still by the carven pillar doth the all wise Brynhilde stand 
Agaze on the wound of Sigurd, nor moveth foot nor hand, 
Nor speaketh word to any of them that come or go 
Round the evil deeds of the Niblungs and the corner stone of woe." 

In the one, though Brynhilde carries her love strong in her heart, she is 
untamed by it, and she pours forth her hate and scorn on the dead body of 
her betrayer. In the other she seems to be stunned by the fulfillment of that 
which she herself has brought about. In the Volsunga Saga the heroes love 


frankly and strongly. They fight eagerly for the maidens of their choice, but 
the love is not described. It is a fierce, hot passion, but it is accepted too 
frankly to allow of minute analysis. It is rejoiced over and recorded, and 
then the narrator turns to the absorbing theme of life, the glory and the cour- 
age of the hero. In Morris's Sigurd the love is analyzed and revelled in till 
it tinges the narrative, and seems more like the southern loves of Cupid and 

In the older version of the story the Volsungs and Nibelungs are a 
fierce and untamed people, very noble in their generosity, their courage and 
their troth-plights, but very childlike in their lack of self-control, and very 
ugly in their brutality and greed. In the later story they show the marks 
of a broader civilization. Many of their untamed have been cut off. They 
are a more noble creation, but their story could not have been told by an 
ancient skald. 


The same softening touch which tempered the story of the mythological 
heroes seems to have been laid upon the life of the men of the Mark. The rec- 
ords of their early history are scanty. There is, therefore, little with which 
to compare the men of the Wolfings. We know the ancient Teutonic people 
owned their land in common, that they all met together in the Thing of the 
Mark, that the spirit of frank friendliness and equality reigned among them. 
These characteristics Morris has faithfully given us in his beautiful tale. We 
also know, however, that there was much that was coarse and brutal in the 
life of those days, and this Morris has caused almost to disappear in the 
beauty of the life which surrounds the brutality. Neither writer nor reader 
can see anything repulsive behind the kindly friendliness of the people. 

Of the history of the Peasant's Revolt we have more abundant records. 
It is true that most of the chroniclers give unsympathetic accounts of the 
outbreak. Yet, after due allowance is made for their prejudice, it seems 
true that Morris has given us an idealized picture of the people. In the 
first place, in the dream-village reigns the beauty of cleanliness. From the 
whitewashed exteriors of the houses to the bright, shining plates on the 
sideboard, not a spot or blemish is to be seen. The picture stands in strik- 
ing contrast to the statement of a careful historian that in those days it was 
impossible to be clean. One of the rooms of the house was generally used 
as a stable for the beasts. The floor of the main hall was spread with rushes 
which it was impossible to change very often. The dogs, who were as 
much at home there as their masters, were fed from the table and hid bones 
among the rushes. People did not think as much as we do now of being 
neat. The picturesque architecture and quaint gardens of Morris's village 
are true to the life, but they have never been subjected to the wear and tear 
of the life. 

Then the care-free atmosphere of Robin Hood has crept too far into the 
story. Men go to the fight at the village as carelessly and gaily as though 
they had little to lose and little to win. Yet there are wrongs to redress; 
wrongs deeply enough felt to rouse the villein class of nearly all England to 
concerted action for the first time in their lives. Surely these were enough 
to sober their laughter. It is true that the men of Kent were never serfs, 
that they were spirited and independent in their tempers, and that the fight 
in the village was but a small skirmish. Yet, even if the wrongs of their 


brother-villeins are not enough to quiet their spirits, they have the memory 
of the recent brutality of the taxgatherer to make them welcome the assault 
of the gentry with more anger and hatred. 

There is also a tone in John Ball's sermon which strikes the ear as out 
of tune with the fourteenth century. That is, the emphasis on rich and poor, 
instead of on gentleman and serf. "When Adam delved and Eve span, who 
was then the gentleman?" was the watchword of the revolt. In the sermons 
which the old chroniclers have handed down to us, the contrast is always 
made between gentle and serf, not between rich and poor. When the king 
asked the men of Essex what they wanted, they answered, "We will that 
you free us forever, us and our lands, and that we never more be held for 
serfs." Nothing is said about community of goods or riches. The contrast 
between rich and poor seems, therefore, like an echo from our own times, 
and out of keeping with mediaeval thought. 

The motives for the rising in Kent given by historians are political 
ones — resistance to the levying of taxes and the freeing the king from his 
evil counsellors. Morris, however, gives a more beautiful one. For the 
Fellowship they do it. John Ball urges the cause of the Fellowship upon 
them. He barely mentions the taxgatherers. The immediate occasion of 
the uprising was certainly the brutal insult offered to a Kentish maid by one 
of the tax collectors. The revolt must have been brewing for some time 
before this, however, for it is certain that there was concerted action, and con- 
certed action among people spread over so much ground and so unused to 
rising in their own defense, needs time to develop. Then, too, Wat Tyler, 
the Kentish leader, and some of his men, seem to have remained behind after 
the other insurgents had dispersed, to see that the promises of the king were' 
kept, and that the cause of the people was safe. " Many of the Kentish 
men," says an historian, " dispersed when they heard the promises the king 
made to the men of Essex." Both these facts seem to lead to the conclu- 
sion that the Kentish men acted for the Fellowship. We know, too, that 
Piers Plowman was both the result and the cause of a spread of fellow 
feeling among those who " pleyed ful selde and swonken ful harde." One of 
the letters of John Ball, given by the old historians, emphasized the need of 
mutual assistance. It reads : "John Ball, St. Mary's Priest, greeteth well 
all manner of men, and biddeth them in the name of the Trinitie, Father, 


Sonne, and Holy Ghost, to stand manlike together in truth, and help trowth 
and trowth shall helpe you." Therefore, in spite of the decisions of the 
historians, we cannot say that John Ball made a mistake when he appealed 
to the men of Kent in the name of the Fellowship. The spiritual beauty of 
the story is not proved true. Yet, since it is not proved false, we may 
enjoy and believe in the truth of the motif of Morris's "Dream of John 

The warrior priest himself is the central figure of that spiritual beauty. 
According to Morris he was a prophet who preached great thoughts to inspire 
the men of the times to do great deeds. He was ascetic and unworldly, and 
lived on a plane above the life of common men. According to the chroniclers 
he was the mad priest of Kent, or the rascally priest of Kent, who raved 
against the nobility and stirred the people up to angry tumults. Both of these 
accounts may possibly have been true. They might describe the same man 
looked at first through the eyes of his friend, and then through those of his 
foe. In the light of his sermons which have,, been preserved, he was, however, 
more like an agitator than a prophet. Instead of setting forth noble ideals, 
they set forth the miseries of the serf with an evident purpose to arouse the 
anger of his hearers. We do not know, however, to whom his sermons were 
preached. Even a prophet might turn agitator sometime to arouse his people, 
if other means failed him. It is not possible to say Morris's picture of John 
Ball is not faithful to the life, yet the extreme beauty and sweetness of his 
thoughts and words, and his extraordinary insight into the future, gives him 
the look of an ideal rather than of a natural character. 

To say, however, that Morris has drawn for us idealized pictures does 
not mean that he has drawn false ones. He has told us of the beauty to be 
found among the Volsungs, and the Wolfings, and the English peasants. He 
has made us breathe the breath of fierce adventure with Sigurd the Volsung, 
of whom it was said, "Never did he lose heart, and of nought was he adread." 
He has given us a taste of the calm serenity and freedom of the markmen who 
knew neither master nor thrall. He has taught of the goodwill and the fear- 
less assertion of independence of the men of Kent ; and what he has told us 
of these is true. Because he has not described for us the ugliness, and 
coarseness, and brutality, to conclude that he meant to say these did not exist 
would be an injustice. He has not tried to write for us a history. He has 


merely performed his true function as a poet. He has extracted the beautiful, 
the true, and the permanent from the life of other days, and has given them 
to the men of his own times. 



I cannot send you my heart, sweet, 

Tho' you are my own sweetheart, 
For a thief stole it long ago, dear, 

And went to a "foreign part." 

I cannot send you my whole heart, 

For I'm not heart whole, you see, 
But I will send you a fraction, 

And choose for my Valentine — thee. 

Clara Brewster Potwin. 


It was down in the corner of the old pasture. The little stream that 
trickled from the watering trough furnished the richest milk ; elderberries 
were raisins, "pretend"; and the chocolate, to tell the truth, was nothing 
but prepared mud. As they trotted back and forth gathering their plantain- 
leaf dishes, he was telling her just how they would keep house when they 
were big. There would be no Mary then to say they shouldn't have "his 
ma's best china plates," he assured her; and, though there was a shade of 
doubt in her big black eyes, I think she believed him. There would be no 
nurses to grab them when the cooking and tea party were over, to wash the 
fun all away. The gesture which emphasized this assertion showed a s^imy 
little fist. They would have really truly raisins when they made cake then, — 
raisins that had wrinkly brown skins instead of shin} r black ones. He repeated 
it because he liked to see those sparkles in her eyes and the dimples in her 
cheeks. Life is full of cakes and raisins at six years old. 

It is at that age, too, that one never doubts the fulfillment of plans. And 
why should one if, as the years go on, the plan seems to develop along 
the right way? He liked just as well when he was ten as when he was 
seven to call for her on the way to school. AYhen they were twelve she 


was the best girl in town to go coasting with, for he was a brave little fellow 
and liked a girl who didn't scream when he happened to run her into a 

She was entirely different from all other girls, as he told the fellows, for 
she didn't try to help you steer your sled by dragging her feet. They didn't 
approve of her, however, and he knew it. Experience had not told him yet, 
though, that his friends had just reached that period in a boy's life when there 
are few things of which he does approve, baseball, football, hockey, and 
marbles excepted. 

His fiery enthusiasm and splendid health made him their leader, but 
when all his time was demanded he drew the line firmly. Only once his 
loyalty wavered, — when the teasing of the fellows almost persuaded him to 
give up the summer afternoons spent with her over "Ivanhoe." The hurt 
look that her proud little soul could not quite control conquered, however, 
and the temptation made him only the more true. 

So the friendship went on, and the characteristics which had drawn 
them together as children did not lose any of their attractiveness. 

At twenty-two, with the new B.A. tacked on to her name, she sat 
and pondered over the announcement of his engagement to another girl. 
She wondered, in a half-sad way, how it all came about. Was it college? 
Had she changed so much ? Didn't he care for a woman with an education 
equal to his own? Yes, it must have been he who had changed. He had 
not had time to write letters, she remembered ; his college work interfered. 
He had liked spending vacations with the college fellows instead of with 
her, and, true to his old self as she knew him, he liked specially the fel- 
lows who had sisters at home. Perhaps he had learned to value a girl for 
her womanly ways, too, and not for those qualities which made her "en- 
tirely different from all other girls." She couldn't think of all the stages, 
so summed it up in that one word "college." Just for a moment she 
ceased glorying in that "B.A.," but it was only for a moment. It all 
flashed back upon her how she had struggled for those college years ; how 
she had overturned all the plans which had conflicted with that one great 


With a little effort she went for paper and pen to tell him " how glad 
she was for him." At the first words, "Dear Jack," over the meadow and 
far away to the pasture lot flew her thoughts. He was going to make cakes 
with somebody else now, and — yes — she wished he wasn't. 


While I was visiting in Saltillo, a Mexican town just a night's ride 
beyond the Rio' Grande, a letter came to my hostess saying that in a few 
days a party of Baptist ministers, with their wives, were to pass through 
Saltillo on their way up to the City of Mexico, and that a place had been 
reserved for her in the party. My friend, as the head of a Mission, feels 
the responsibilities of her position, and, then, too, she is one of those women 
whose busy season keeps steady pace with the progress of the calendar. 
It was not surprising that she dismissed the possibility of her going with 
the explanation that she had no leisure for an outing. Discussion of the 
matter only proved that, when a strong-willed and hyper-conscientious 
woman says she has no time for recreation, she assumes an impregna- 
ble position, and all words to the contrary are only wasted ammunition. 
So it came about that I accepted the situation and the courtesy which had 
been extended to my friend, and joined this company of Baptists as the 
proxy of a Methodist missionary. As my particular form of faith is a third 
variation, I was in the midst of a sectarian complication. Diplomatically, 
I avoided all possible arguments or differences of opinion, and it was my 
earnest intention to conduct myself in a manner worthy of a representa- 
tive of John Wesley and a guest of Roger Williams. 

By some accident there was another young woman in the party who, 
like myself, could not say the shibboleth of the Baptists. But she did say 
something that outraged the feelings of this little community bounded by 
the four walls of a Pullman car, when she expressed her desire to see a 
bull fight. I silently echoed her words. The traveler in Old England 
must see cricket, in New England football, in Heidelberg duelling, and in 
Mexico a bull fight. How could I return to the bosom of my family and 
the circle of my friends confessing that I had not seen £he national sport 
of Mexico? Still, I maintained a discreet silence, saying nothing in defense 


of these heretical wishes, so long, especially, as I saw no chance of realizing 
them in this company. 

In the City of Mexico we were most cordially welcomed by the chief 
pillar of the American Baptist residents, who, in a spirit of unbounded pa- 
tience and generosity, offered himself and his family as guides and interpreters 
for our party. A brother of this James family fell to my share one morn- 
ing as we walked over to the plaza where the fashionable set is on dress 
parade from twelve to one. We moved across the plaza quite a little 
distance for an especially fine view of Popocatapetl, when our friends 
went on to luncheon. Mr. James suggested that, as we were plainly left, 
I should go with him instead, and embellished the suggestion with a 
description of a Mexican cafe where we could sit under the trees in the 
patio and hear soft music and the splashing of a fountain. The constant 
companionship of even the most brilliant or sainted grows wearisome, and 
this seemed a tempting relief, so off we strolled to our luncheon a la 

Among other places we might visit in the afternoon, Mr. James spoke 
of the Plaza del Toros ; for this was a holiday, and holidays always call for 
this particular celebration. My reply was noncommittal, but followed by 
such interested inquiries that it was easy to see I only wanted some over- 
whelming arguments. He assured me that it was eminently proper ; in- 
deed, I was almost convinced that I was not proper if I did not go. The 
president of the republic frequently attended with his family ; the members 
of the different foreign legations also. All the American residents went ; 
he himself had taken one of the lady missionaries. But all this, I realized, 
would make but a feeble defense before a ministerial jury. My individual 
ego and my diplomatic ego were meanwhile on duty, the one urging me to 
go, the other advising me to be cautious. The controversy of the two egos 
was altogether too weighty for the accompaniment of the light guitar, and 
the question was indefinitely tabled. 

On our return to the hotel, a few moments devoted to reconnoitering 
among the wives gave me the programme of the afternoon. After the 
siesta, which seemed to have found universal favor, they were to go by way 
of the tomb of Juarez to the house of some hospitable American resident, 
where they were to meet the other members of the American colony in 


Mexico and have a general hand-shaking and a tea-drinking. Mr. James and 
I, with the understanding that they would follow us later, preceded them in 
this visit to the last resting place of the Mexican patriot. We did our duty 
by the burying ground, or rather the superterranean catacombs, and when 
we came out into the world again, it was very exhilarating to hear the band 
playing in the Plaza del Toros. The Mexican soldiery may be puppets, 
their public buildings mean, their poetry thin and insipid, but their band 
music is above reproach. Perhaps my courage was aroused like the soldier's 
by military music, for without any hesitancy, as if Baptist ministers were 
extinct and not liable to meet me face to face at any moment, we crossed the 
street and joined the crowd going bandward. 

The sunny side of the amphitheater is lacking in the refinements of its 
patrons, as well as in the comforts of shade and a tolerable temperature; 
but from my seat among the patricians I saw men and women, well dressed, 
refined and intelligent in their appearance, such as usually are seen at any 
band concert. My self-forgetful state of satisfaction was jarred back into a 
realization of present dangers when I discovered, only a few seats from me, 
three of the deacons. My companion cheered me with the patent comfort 
that they were not going to tell where they had seen me. When my eyes 
met theirs a few minutes later, I smiled a recognition with no more surprise 
than if we had unexpectedly met at some social or official function in the 
palace at Chapultepec. 

The performance proper was preceded by a procession of all the men 
who took part in the farce. There were men on foot, and men on horses, carry- 
ing lances, cloaks, and flags. After these came Pouciana Diaz, evidently a 
favorite with the people, although he was a Spaniard, for he was received 
with such applause as we show to Irving or Patti. When these, like chief 
combatants in a gladiatorial fight, had been ceremonially presented before 
the judges' stand, the victim of the hour came bellowing into the arena to 
meet his opponents. My sympathies were all for the poor beast. He was 
absolutely helpless, — only one of him against all those active men. Every- 
where he was baffled and impotent as the men flaunted their bright cloaks 
before him, and then ran under cover of the screens that were all around the 
wall of the arena. It was like children playing tag; but he could never 
catch one of them. The men were quite skilful, one agile fellow, with 


the aid of his lance, leaping over the bull's back. Ponciana, the artist 
Toreador from old Madrid, finally rode out. He made some scientific 
advances and retreats, exhibiting his daring and superior horsemanship. 
Suddenly his knife gleamed in the air, and the bull fell with the knife in his 

Eight here I expressed a desire for fresh air, and we were soon in the 
street outside. The Floating Islands were recommended as abounding in 
air of the desired freshness. While we were riding in that direction we 
caught sight of my tourist friends on their way to the tea-drinking. Now 
I was just as ready to get back to them as in the morning I had been pleased 
to be rested from them. My chief idea was to escape the responsibility of 
any further words, and in this throng I felt that my silence would be unin- 
terrupted and unnoticed. We joined the party at the door, and as afterwards 
I could speak as critically as any of the elaborate metal wreaths on Juarez's 
grave, they never suspected that I had been out of their sight. 

As we were on our way down from the city quite a flutter was created 
in our car when the conductor announced one afternoon that Ponciana Diaz, 
the famous bull fighter from Spain, was in one of the rear coaches. He gave 
so luring a description that the younger men soon wandered back to the last 
car for the scenery. At the next station, as usual, we w r ere all sweeping 
the platform with our scrutinizing gazes when I recognized Ponciana. 
After I had pointed him out to this elderly and conservative remnant in 
the car, with the air of one who knows, I wondered what I should have said 
if one of them had asked me how I knew. But the dear old souls were all 
busy verifying with their eyes what had evidently not escaped their ears, — 
the handsome holero, the silk scarf which Senora Diaz, wife of the president, 
had embroidered and presented with her own hands, and, above all, a gor- 
geous silver-threaded sombrero. The term of my diplomatic hypocrisy was 
almost at an end when I might have grown honest and made confession. 
This would have broken the record which they were fondly cherishing, and 
Avith which they would adorn the closing remarks destined to be given in 
their respective parishes, — that this was the only party from the United 
States that had not by its presence encouraged the barbarian sport of heathen 
Mexico. Rather than wreck so many moral conclusions I kept silent, that 
much self-complacency in peroration might come of my duplicity. 



In the radiant hush and beauty 
Of the tender summer morning, 
In the stillness as of angels 

Lulling fretful waves to rest, 
Deep within the misty valley lands 
The violets are stirring, 
And turning fragrant faces 

To the warm wind from the west. 

All drowsily their heavy heads 
The little buds are nodding, 
Faint yet with the remembrance 

Of the cradling mother earth, 
Till the kind wind lifts them lovingly, 
And folds each lonely petal, 
While it whispers wondrous stories 

Of this rare land of their birth. 

Florence Annette Wing, '92. 


" In a year we will go to Oxford." 

" I wish it were now, rather than a year from now." 

"Oh, a year won't seem very long, Ailsa. Remember we are trusting 
each other to be faithful until then." 

Ailsa Denis said one last good-by, and gave her friend the hearty hand- 
shake girls are so fond of giving and receiving, then she entered the car and 
was borne swiftly westward. One year to be lived through somehow, and 
then perfect happiness. She had a large trunk of books to help her endure 
those twelve months of waiting. It was very warm traveling. When Ailsa 
reached Chicago she was tired and depressed. She hated to think there was 
no more college, and a year seemed very long. 

Her father met her at the station. He was tired, too. Business was 
not thriving. But he kissed Ailsa affectionately, and said two years was a 
long time not to have seen her. Last summer Ailsa had spent at the shore 
with some of her college friends. "It is my last chance, you know," she 
had written home, and her parents had consented, as parents do. 

When she reached home she found her mother in bed. " I have been 
packing all day," Mrs. Denis said, "getting the house ready to leave, so 


that I could devote myself to your dressmaking for the next week. Have 
you decided what you will have, dear?" 

" Oh no, mother ! " Ailsa's voice had an impatient ring. " I don't care 
what I have. AVhere is Dolly?" 

" Dolly has taken Baby out driving. She was sorry not to be here to 
see you, but Baby was very fussy, and Arnold offered to take them out." 

Ailsa tried to tell her mother a few things about her graduation, hut she 
was too warm and weary to enthuse much. Dolly and Baby came home and 
they had dinner. After dinner, their cousin Arnold Denis came in, and the 
two Winter girls. Ailsa felt that it was a great bore to hear Dolly and the 
Winter girls chatter. She had forgotten that Dolly talked so much about 
clothes. Mrs. Denis suggested that Ailsa go to bed to rest from her journey. 
Ailsa went gladly. 

The next night they all attended a dance. Ailsa was fond of dancing. 
She felt quite happy, as she floated away on her cousin Arnold's arm. But 
presently she found that Arnold expected her to talk. That wouldn't have 
been so bad, but he started such trivial subjects. Ailsa hated small talk. 
She looked severe and didn't answer Arnold's sallies. Even dancing was a 
bore, — with men. She was not compelled to dance many times. Girls who 
could put their whole souls into such remarks as, " Do you really think I 
was so much to blame, Mr. Ward?" were taking the partners away. Ailsa, 
who for four years had been accustomed to being the center of a group, 
found herself alone, except for a middle-aged chaperone, who was telling her 
about a new servant. With a disgusted curl of the lip, Ailsa watched Dolly, 
— flirting, as she called it, — and was glad she had been to college, and 
learned the unimportance of pleasing men. What college girl would have 
repeated for a man's entertainment, Baby's senseless chatter. When Ailsa 
got to bed that night, she tried to say over a few lines from James, but she 
was wondering why no one had asked her to dance. 

Mrs. Denis and Baby went to Beulah. Dolly and Ailsa were to follow 
with their father the next day. Dolly went out to dinner. Ailsa was left to 
preside over her father's table. Mr. Denis came in late, and seemed absent- 
minded. Ailsa sat opposite him, and thought of many things. When din- 
ner was over, Mr. Denis sat with his head on his hand, and did not rise from 
the table, but when Ailsa passed him to go into the library, he lifted his head 


suddenly, and smiled at her. "It is good for a weary heart to see you about 
again, Ailsa," he said. 

"Thank you," she said confusedly. She wanted to kiss him as she 
used to, but somehow she felt sure she should do it awkwardly. 

She walked beside her father into the library without speaking again. 
He took the paper, and she settled down to an evening of Plato. Once she 
looked up, and noticed that the lines in his forehead had grown deeper since 
he began to read. 

A moment later, Dolly came in. She had some flowers in her hands. 
She w r ent up to her father, kissed him, and seated herself on his knee. 
" Dad, you're frowning to beat the band," she remarked. She made a 
wreath of flowers for his head, while she told him about her visit. Ailsa 
watched them, heard her father's old merry laugh, and felt suddenly ashamed 
of herself. "I wonder if I am of the least use to any one in the w r ide 
world," she said. 

Mr. Denis did not go to Beulah the next day. He sent the girls, and 
wrote his wife that he would follow as soon as he could. He came a week 
later. They were all at table when he entered the room. He went up and 
kissed his wife. " We have been through a crisis," he said, " my nephew has 
helped me. Arnold Denis is a man in the highest sense of the word." 

"A man, the noblest work of God, "and Ailsa had thought he was only able 
to flirt. She wondered if she were a " woman." She looked at Dolly amusing 
Baby. Dolly was the "woman" after all ; she was nothing but intellectual. 

Two weeks later, Mr. Denis died of heart failure, caused by over-anxi- 
ety. Mrs. Denis was overcome by her husband's death. She saw no one 
but Dolly for many days. 

Ailsa, sitting downstairs alone, was recalling the time when her brother 
died, six years before. She remembered how many hours she had knelt by 
her mother's bed, bathing the hot head with alcohol. " Mother's dear little 
comforter," her mother had said, just before dropping asleep. " I am going 
to try," Ailsa murmured to herself. 

Ailsa did try, and did not try in vain. Her mother and Dolly were de- 
lighted. " I don't want to be narrow, mother. I want to beatrue woman," 
Ailsa said, and Mrs. Denis helped her. 

"Every woman should know how to make cake," Mrs. Denis said to 
her daughter, one morning in early winter. 


Ailsa made a Bridgeport loaf. She compounded it with great care, and 
got it into the oven safely. She spent the greater part of her forenoon on 
her knees before the stove, opening the oven door cautiously every few mo- 
ments. She thought one side was getting browner than the other ; she 
turned it very, very gently. Then she scowled at it. "I hope that won't 
make it fall." Suddenly she caught sight of her face in a small glass the 
cook used. " I have been completely absorbed in a loaf of cake," she said 
to her disgusted self. She dashed up stairs, threw herself on her bed and 
began to cry. The loaf burned. 

Dolly had a good many callers. Gradually Ailsa began to enjoy being 
in the room. Sometimes she made tea for Dolly. Men really could be en- 
tertaining, she found. They were even capable of becoming serious and 
talking thoughtfully. She had forgotten that. 

One day Arnold was with the others. He talked about ambition, and 
said a few original things. Ailsa was interested in what he said, and in him. 
She thought how pleasant it all was, and looked about her with a sort of af- 
fection for the whole scene. " You make mighty good tea, Ailsa, even bet- 
ter than Dolly," Arnold said. 

Ailsa felt a sudden thrill of pleasure. At the same moment she remem- 
bered that in a few months she would be at Oxford. She wondered why 
she felt depressed. 

That night she was reading the letters of one of the world's prominent 
women. There was a sentence in the last one that haunted her. " I have 
worked all my life long on this subject, and haven't succeeded in getting as 
far as Professor B. did before me. I hoped to really accomplish something, 
or I should not have given up so much for it." It was true, this woman 
was famous only because she showed such a remarkable understanding of the 
work done by others. The world was no richer for her life. 

Some weeks after, Dolly told Ailsa she was going to marry Arnold. 
"We have really been engaged for more than a year," Dolly said, " only I 
didn't feel sure, and I wanted to wait." 

"I am glad," Ailsa said to herself, "now if I don't go to Oxford, it 
won't be on account of a man." But Oxford began to look more attractive. 
She wrote a long letter to her friend, making more definite plans about the 
coming year. Ailsa seldom deceived herself. 


" Instead of staying at home on account of a man, I am going for that 
same reason," she said. She tore up the letter and decided to wait for a little. 

She watched Dolly and Arnold together. "Arnold used to like me 
best, I am very sure," Ailsa told herself one day. Then she spoke to him. 

"Arnold, do you believe in the Higher Education of Women?" 
Arnold turned away from Dolly, and looked at her. 

" Theoretically, yes. But I think it often unfits a girl for taking her 
place in the world. When a girl begins to feel that, regardless of the 
wishes and happiness of the parents, who have sacrificed so much for her, 
she will spend her life on her own advancement and education, then I say 
college is a mistake." Ailsa's face flushed. Then Arnold smiled. "After 
all, Ailsa, worthless as we men seem to you, our respect and regard are not 
without their value. Our opinions, in the main, are the opinions of our 
grandfathers and grandmothers. It is only you girls who are agitating so 
many new ideas." 

Ailsa went upstairs and wrote a telegram to her friend. " Not going 
to Oxford. Don't write. Don't ask questions." It is not to please Arnold ; 
it is to please my grandfathers and grandmothers, she said. 

It was twenty years later. Ailsa's friend was president of their college. 
Ailsa w T as a mother, and devoted her hours to the sacrifices of home. Her 
daughter went to the old college. Ailsa visited her. " She went to hear her 
old friend conduct chapel. She sat in the far corner of the gallery and 
watched the president. "She is like Mary. She has chosen the better 
part," Ailsa said, and bowed her head upon her hand. 

Outside Ailsa's daughter was talking. " Olive, you must come into our 
room, and meet my mother. You will be better all the days of your life." 
But Ailsa did not hear her. 



In my great grief at the loss of a beloved friend, I am impelled to say a 
word in her memory, for the Magazine which once knew her guidance and name. 

She first entered into my life when we were Juniors together at college, 
and during those two remaining years I knew her, a keen, ambitious, active 


mind, a frank and loyal friend. The deeper and gentler nature which lay 
beneatli that frost and sparkle I was yet to learn and to love. The following 
year, as God willed it, we were room-mates and fellow-laborers at Hull 
House, I through her suggestion and request. 

There, it was not long before I knew her for one of the rarest souls it has 
ever been my privilege to hold communion with. In the intense, exacting 
and ever-varying life of that wonderful settlement she was always a force to 
be relied upon. Tactful, most delicately courteous, unobtrusive, patient, 
cheerful, and appreciative, so she showed herself at every turn, no matter 
how monotonous, how wearying, how repulsive, the situation about her. 
A most gracious adaptability was developed in her, a cordial readiness to 
meet all emergencies and all types of people, and with the same unfailing 
respect and deference. With all her finely developed and superabundant 
intellectuality, she had the uncommon gift of subordinating herself to the 
level of a grosser nature, so that there was no icy wall of division between 
herself and others her inferiors. But this is only negative praise. A tem- 
perament more poised, a judgment more quick and sure, an artistic sense 
more keen, a sympathy more tender, a heart more true, a soul more pure 
and aspiring, it has never been my lot to know. With her frail physique, 
her wistful intensity of expression, her pent-up effervescing energy, her love 
for flowers, for the country, for poetry — I recall her so well as we sat on a 
knoll by the lake one blue May afternoon. She had been gathering violets 
which she held in her hand. A friend who was with us read from Lowell. 
Agnes's soul was in her face, drinking in with the almost pathetic eagerness 
of natures highly strung, the beauty of life around her. 

The climate was against her here, so she sought California, where as a 
student at Lelaud Stanford, she soon made her impress as a mind of unusual 
acumen. The intellectual activity and executive ability that were shown in 
the " Hull House Maps and Papers," found a new channel in psychological 
and pedagogical study and research, and it was not with much surprise that 
her friends learned after she had taken her master's degree in January, 1896, 
of her appointment to an instructorship in Leland Stanford. It seemed that 
the world was open to her ; whatever she laid her hand to she made a success. 
In her chosen lines her achievements were notable ; a ripening character 
added new charm and sweetness to her brilliant personality ; her dearest 


ambition seemed about to be realized, that she might work and do much for 
others ; — only strength and health was denied her. During the late winter 
and spring of '96 she gradually failed. Occasional fevers and a ti'ouble with 
her throat alarmed her, but being advised to keep on with her work, she did 
so, hoping that these malarial symptoms would pass away with warmer and 
drier weather. 

From February of that year till the end she never spoke above a 
whisper, but her letters remained the same, firm in hand, resolute, cheerful, 
and uncomplaining, so that her friends little dreamed of the sickness that was 
wearing away her life. In the spring she sought the dry climate of Arizona, 
but relief failing her, she returned to California, where her father and sister 
came to her. Tenderly cared for, she was taken to Denver, where she 
remained for a few weeks, under the care of an eminent physician. He 
could give little encouragement, but the brave heart of Agnes remained 
bright and unflinching in the frail and wasted physique. Late in August, 
with her father and sister, she went to her home in Marengo, Iowa, knowing 
well, as her father says, " that going home meant going to her long home." 
But she was well content to die. She had no fear of death. She only said, 
" I regret that I have not been able to do more for others when so much has 
been done for me." 

Unshadowed in spirit by the malady which so long foredoomed her, 
she fought bravely the battle of life, and passed away smiling. 

She is with us no longer, but we hold her memory a precious possession. 

Florence Wilkinson. 


She was the daughter of the village curate. How do I know it? Who 
else, pray, save the village curate's daughter would have been leaning against 
the rectory gate with a wide-brimmed hat, from under which she was looking 
out, with sweet, serious eyes, on a somewhat puzzling world? Her father 
was not a great divine, one would judge, for the rectory was a simple 
house, nor was he of the forehanded type, for the rectory gate did not hang 
very steadily on its hinges, but he must have been a good man and true, as 
the face under the broad-brimmed hat had the goodness and truth which come 


from heredity ; certainly environment could have done little for it in the 
dreary little Canadian town, unless looking at the falling water, just outside 
the rectory garden, may have put its purity into life and face. No, I choose 
to believe that this girl was born with " sweetness and light " inherent, and 
that nature had made her a true woman, even as nature made Phillips Brooks 
a tine man. Sorrow and strife had not touched her as yet, and perhaps, as 
George Macdonald would have us believe, she was but half a woman on that 
account. The potentialities were existent in her, however, and many natures 
there are which sorrow and strife do not touch to " finer issues. " This girl 
just lived her life, as simply as the morning-glory on the gate post, and 
looked out from the roadside rectory to put into one heart, at least, a belief 
in the endless creative power of the goodness that made her, as well as the 
goodness that was made, and even the sublime rush and fall of the waters of 
Niagara did not have a greater meaning. 

Mary Arnold Petrie. 



The Editorial Board this month would cry on general principles, Pec- 
cavimusf The stories and articles, we fear, are less than they should be, by 
the matter of the names of several authors. Whether these names were in- 
tentionally suppressed, or were meant to be inserted when the proof came 
from press, we do not know. The Editor in chief was ill at her home when 
the proof arrived, and could not be questioned on business. It is, therefore, 
with sincere apologies for all sins of omission and commission, that we send 
out this issue. We beg the pardoning indulgence of all contributors whose 
contribution, in our ignorance, we may have made to appear incomplete. 


The frequent need of revision in notices sent for insertion in the Ma«-a- 
zine has impressed on us the expediency of stating editorially the two or 
three simple rules that must be obeyed in preparing copy for the press. 
The first is : never to write on both sides of a sheet. Sheets already written 
on one side may be used, if the writing on the side not to be printed from is 
scratched through, so that the printer may be sure which side is meant for 
him ; but nothing is ever printed from two sides of the same sheet. The 
second rule is : always to send copy unmixed with extraneous matter. If 
any remarks are to accompany the article or notice they should be written 
on a separate sheet from the copy. For instance, notices of society meet- 
ings sent to the Magazine should not begin: "My dear Miss , At a 

regular meeting of," etc., and should not end, " Sincerely yours, " 

When this occurs the editor has to cut off or cross out the besrinnino - 
and end of the notice — has often, indeed, to revise parts of the notice 
itself; for the note-writing frame of mind is apt to spoil a communication 
for business purposes; and few ways of wasting time are more distasteful 
than rewriting communications which would have cost the sender in the first 
place no more trouble to write rightly than wrongly. A notice should be 
simply, solely, baldly, and boldly, a notice, and should reach the editor in 
the exact form it is desired to have in print. A word may be said here, 


too, about personal communication which may accompany a notice. If 
notices were being sent by secretaries of college organizations to the Boston 
Herald, for instance, they should either be signed, without any closing form, 
by the sender, in which case they could be fitted for press by a single pen- 
stroke ; or else they should be accompanied by a brief note to the editor. 
This would be simply to assure him that he was getting bona fide material ; 
simply to assume responsibility for the communication. Occasional 
notices for the Magazine should be similarly signed or accompanied. But 
when such regular contributions as society notices, for instance, are being 
sent to us, they need be accompanied by no note, nor even signed. The 
note or the name does nothing more than tell the editor what she has 
already guessed ; namely, that the secretary sent the notice — and time is 
precious. The truest courtesy in these cases is the thing that makes least 
work for the editor, least unnecessary reading and writing. It is in the 
hope that by a kindly observance of our remarks, our correspondents will, 
in future, save us a little labor, that we mention these two common-sense 


For three years, seven months and a half, or even eight months, at 
College, we do not mind working. We may grumble here and there, but on 
the whole we would rather earn our diplomas with the sweat of our brow than 
without. But there comes a time in one's college course when the grind of 
academic work seems a heavy burden needlessly imposed. This time is the 
spring of the senior year. In the preceding three years and a half, what 
are to those who know them perhaps the two most precious gifts of Wellesley 
to her students have become ours : a sympathetic relationship with our out- 
door world — none the less helpful because so few of us can express it — and 
deep friendships with fellow-students. We do not wish to undervalue 
academic work. Our training school has been of inestimable benefit in many 
ways. But, after all, we have devoted more time to books than to anything 
else, and if we have not yet learned to study, we cannot learn in the last term 
of the senior year. A.nd at this time other things than study are uppermost. 
The sense of parting is already strong upon us, — parting from the college life, 
from the grouuds, from the girls, — and we want a little breathing time before 


we go away ; to see a little deeper into the meaning of college ; to understand 
something more of our out-of-doors ; to live in more constant fellowship 
with those who have shared and bettered what was best in our col- 
lege lives. This is the time, of all the course, when we could best 
appreciate all that is good in college. The sense of the end has quickened 
realization. We could live months in those last few weeks. They could do 
something towards rounding oft', so to speak, our college years, and the 
memory of their richness would bind us in after years to Alma Mater as only 
heart-ties can bind. If the loyalty of her students be, as we think, a college's 
best capital, Alma Mater would do well to invest in the joy of living for her 
seniors. A little leisure would buy it for them. 


Instead of this, in years past, especially last June, what has been the 
case? At the time when the student about to leave Wellesley would be 
most keenly sensitive to all that had made college worth while, she has 
been tasked for brain work until she was half exhausted, and could chiefly 
long only for rest. For grounds and friends she has had only moments 
snatched from work. Or if she has rebelled against the routine that would 
absorb her, and lived with friends and grounds in spite of it, she has either 
slighted papers or worked all night. And who can blame her? The Aca- 
demic Council may say it is the girl's own fault ; that the}' do not require 
of her more than she has hitherto carried ; and that if she would work at the 
proper time, she could be good for something at Commencement. But love 
is stronger than reason, and experience has shown that the girl will insist, 
out of her perverseness, in seeing more of her friends than hitherto, and the 
extra time, since none is spared from her studies, must be taken from her 

Men may be able to live all day and work half the night, and still be 
good for something other than a sanatorium. But girls cannot. It surely is 
no credit to Alma Mater to send out as results of her system, students as 
"frazzled" and as heavily ringed under the eyes as our seniors sometimes are. 
An exhausted woman is only half a woman. Might not a loss of rigidity in 
the last term's work be a gain to the College, if so the girl were helped ? 



The two preceding editorials are taken from the issue of last June. 
They were an appeal for " senior vacation." Because this appeal stated facts 
which we would state again now with strengthened conviction, we venture to 
print it once more, and to beg for it the consideration of the Academic 
Council. We wrote last year as juniors, trying to put the case of the seniors. 
This year, as seniors in our own right, we can but add that we spoke the 
very truth, and that with all our hearts we plead for the granting of our 
request. Not alone as editors ; it is the united class whose earnest desire is 
here expressed. If the final rush of work helped the seniors, we should not 
ask to have it dropped. But, at least since Ninety-seven entered, each 
senior class has been too driven in June to be helped by anything except 
a holiday. It is the busiest part of the year. Tree Day and Float 
are on hand, with the class supper and the closing of our connection 
with various organizations ; many of us have home people to take care 
of, and are arranging for work next fall; and, to return to the theme 
that is always coming up again, we must be seen so often, because these 
are the last chances, and there is so much to say and to do. We are simply 
not fit for the sustained thinking wanted on papers and examinations. 


A comparison between the proportion of faculty to students, and the 
number of courses offered, at Wellesley and at other women's colleges, has 
given us a satisfaction which we would share with the readers of the Maga- 
zine. In '95-96 there were 786 students and 79 members of the faculty at 
Wellesley, making an average of 9.9 students to one instructor; at Bryn 
Mawr there were 285 students and 33 faculty, making an average of 8.6 
students to each instructor; at Harvard, 3,600 students and 366 faculty, — 
9.8 students to each* ; at Vassar, 485 students and 45 faculty, — 17.7 stu- 
dents to each ; and at Smith, 875 students and 43 faculty, — 20.3 students 
to each. The number of courses offered at Wellesley was 192, of which 

* The proportion of students to faculty was found for Harvard instead of forRadcliffe, 
because we had not the number of Radcliffe students for '95-96. 


41 were for one-half year only. The number offered at Bryn Mawr is 
hard to compute. The majority of the full courses are five-hour courses, 
but each one of these is catalogued in two or three divisions. For example, 
the catalogue says : "A course in philosophy, five hours weekly throughout 
one year, is required for all candidates for a degree " ; and this " course " is 
described under two heads as follows: "Logic, Psychology, Ethics, and 
History of Philosophy. Four times weekly throughout the year. Lectures 
on the Origin and Contents of the Books of the Bible. Once weekly 
throughout the year." There are, too, very many alternating courses, given 
not all at once hut in a series of years. Counting these courses in that 
fashion, Bryn Mawr offered in '95-96 316 hours ; counting all these alterna- 
ting courses as parallel, she offered 381 hours. But this leaves out of ac- 
count a large number of graduate courses, which may be had if students 
wish them, but which are not catalogued by hours or definitely described. 
Indeed, the whole system of Bryn Mawr is so different, at least as catalogued, 
from that of the other women's colleges,, that the courses can hardly be 
subjected to a parallel summing up. The number of hours offered at Rad- 
cliff'e in the same year was 225, of which 83 were for one-half year only; 
at Vassar 156, of which 124 were for a half year only ; and at Smith 163, 
of which 96 were for a half year only. Wellesley required 59 hours for 
the degree of A.B. ; Bryn Mawr, 52.5, 55, or 60, according to the greater or 
less completeness of entrance preparation ; Radcliffe, 19 full courses, or the 
equivalent of 57 hours here; Vassar, 57.5, or 58 hours; and Smith, 50 
hours. From these numbers it is evident that each one of our faculty is 
burdened with 1.3 more students than the faculty of Bryn Mawr; with 
but one tenth of a student more than her brother of Harvard ; and, roughly 
speaking, with only one half of the weight that falls on pedagogic shoul- 
ders of Vassar and Smith ; that the number of electives offered here is 
greater than in any other woman's college except Radcliffe, and that our 
requirements for graduation are, if hours count, in a proud position at the 
" top of the heap." 


In certain minor matters, as well as in matters academic, comparison of 
colleges is of interest. At Vassar, Smith, and Bryn Mawr, the students' 


rooms are kept entirely by the servants. Vassar charges $115 for tuition, 
and $275 for board ; Smith, $100 for tuition, $300 for board ; Bryn Mawr, 
$100 for tuition, and from $275 to $550 for board, according to the room or 
rooms occupied by the student; Rudcliffe charges $200 for tuition, and 
board may be had in Cambridge at from $25 to $75 a month ; Wellesley 
charges $175 for tuition, and $225 for board. The charge for board at 
Smith and Vassar includes the washing of one dozen plain pieces weekly ; 
not so at Wellesley and Bryn Mawr, nor, of course, in Cambridge. But 
our health provisions are something to congratulate ourselves upon. We 
have hospital wards in the main building, and one in Stone Hall ; and a con- 
tagion ward in an isolated house ; and two health officers and a nurse, all 
residents ; and for these and medicine there is no charge, except in cases of 
prolonged illness. In the Smith announcements there is no mention of 
any such matter, from which we may gather that the students are attended, 
like the people of Northampton, by Northampton physicians only. Rad- 
cliffe girls are not expected to be ill ; if they are, they employ Cambridge 
physicians. Bryn Mawr receives a weekly visit from a lady physician of 
Baltimore, who may be consulted at these times by all students, free of 
charge. At Vassar a physician resides, and there is an infirmary and a 
resident nurse. But there is a " nominal" charge of. 25 cents for each visit 
to the doctor's office, 50 cents for each visit from the doctor to a student, 25 
cents for each prescription, and $1.50 for each day spent in the infirmary. 
No wonder the Vassar catalogue remarks that " Few communities of the 
same number of persons have so little illness ! " 


In the matter of help for impecunious students we are exceptionally 
fortunate, though still much more poorly off than we wish and ought to be, 
in order to meet the annual calls for help. The appropriations of the Stu- 
dents' Aid Society for students in '95-96 amounted, including incomes of 
scholarships and cash received from subscribers and donors, to $6,399.50. 
We have two co-operative houses, the Eliot and Fiske, and the undergrad- 
uate scholarships number thirty-one. There are no scholarships for graduates, 
except the remission of fees by the College to graduates not living in college 


buildings. At Bryn Mawr there is a Students' Aid Fund, founded by the 
Class of 90, which receives contributions and makes loans very much as our 
Students' Aid Society does. There are two fellowships, five graduate schol- 
arships, and twelve undergraduate scholarships. At Radcliffe there are five 
undergraduate scholarships and two prizes of $100 and $250, respectively. 
At Smith there is one student co-operative house, four endowed scholarships 
for undergraduates, and a number of scholarships of fifty or one hundred 
dollars each, given as need arises. There is no Students' Aid Society. 
Vassar has much the most abundant resources of all the women's colleges — 
resources that have been increasing ever since its incorporation in '61. 
There are nineteen undergraduate scholarships, a College Aid Fund, made 
up of annual gifts from friends of the College ; a Students' Aid Society, 
which lent last year the sum of $3,340 ; two aid funds of $50,000 each ; an 
additional Loan Fund, and four prizes. May Wellesley "follow in her 
train ! " 


There were no contributions sent to the February Free Press. If, 
however, there have been thoughts in the minds of undergraduates or 
alumnae, of sending further answers to the question of expense, we hope 
that this month's blank will not discourage such intentions, but will rather 
prick them on to speedier fulfillment. 


One of the daintiest little books we have seen of late, clad in gray, with 
ornaments of gold and green, comes to us from G. P. Putnam's Sons, New 
York. It is entitled, "In My Lady's Name : Poems of Love and Beauty," 
compiled and arranged by Charles Wells Moulton. The frontispiece is the 
beautiful head called Hope, from a painting by Gabriel Max. The poems 
are all lyrics on beautiful women, and the names include those of nearly all 
the fair maidens who have been loved by the poets, from the days of Richard 
Lovelace to those of Austin Dobson. No prettier little gift book than this 
could be imagined ; the selection has been made with great good taste. 


A Princetonian, by James Barnes. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 

"A Princetonian" is the story of a young western fellow who, at the 
beginning of the tale, is engaged as head clerk of a country store in a rough 
little prairie town. He desires to better his education, and after hearing, 
by chance, a Princeton Glee Club concert, determines to make his way to 
the college of New Jersey. He has no parents, and leaves behind him only 
the pretty but uneducated girl to whom he is engaged. In his new life, 
despite his lack of polish, he finds himself popular, and by virtue of his 
athletic achievements, his maturity, and natural ability, is elected president 
of his class. He soon stands high in favor with certain young ladies who 
visit their brothers at college ; in particular with a Miss Hollingsworth, who 
becomes his ideal. At last he finds himself on the Football Eleven. But in 
the midst of his popularity he begins to realize how entirely he has been 
separated from all associations with his past life, and further, that he is look- 
ins: forward to marrying a girl whom he does notlove. Fearing to become 
yet more estranged from the life behind him, he is on the point of returning 
West to give up college forever, when behold ! an opportune telegram in- 
forms him that his betrothed has fled with another man. He is free and 
remains at college, gets in with a fast set, becomes the crony of a reckless 
fellow, who follows him through the rest of the story as his evil genius, and 
is finally recalled to hard work and honor by a few encouraging words from 
Miss Hollingsworth. AH this before the completion of his freshman year ! 
Henceforth the story is little other than a love tale, with the varying vicissi- 
tudes and trials of the lover, and the complications arising from the sudden 
appearance of his first love as a ballet girl, at a theatre where he is in attend- 
ance on Miss Hollingsworth. The interest of the story does not center in 
college life, notwithstanding that the hero gains all manner of unprecedented 
honors, — is made captain of the Football Eleven, is a member of the Glee 
Club, and wins a scholarship. We see him chiefly at New York or at the 
country seats of his wealthy friends. The reader is quite sure from almost 
the beginning how it is all to end, in the crowning happiness of the Prince- 
tonian and Miss Hollingsworth. The principal characters are well drawn, 
but there are rather too many minor characters prominent in the early part 
of the Princetonian's college career, but not distinctly individualized. They 


seem, at last, mere names, dragged in to remind us that the Princetonian is 
still supposed to be in college. Patrick Corse Shapley is rather an exception, 
an odd, original character; a "young man with a purpose," who appeals to 
our sympathies from his pitiful out-of-placeness and loneliness. He serves 
the useful purpose of unraveling the love affairs of his friend, the Prince- 
tonian, and of helping to put him on such firm financial footing that he can 
meet his lady's father with all due confidence. The story keeps our inter- 
ested attention, and through the first part we feel strongly the spirit of 
undergraduate life. In the latter part, however, the hoosier has been trans- 
formed into an agreeable and accomplished man of the world whose college 
seems to be the scene of his actions only by accident. It is a pity that a 
story of undergraduate life should not be able to confine itself more closely 
to college boundaries, and to find some interest, too, in students who are 
neither class presidents, football captains, or glee club singers. Such bright 
and shining qualities do, however, win popularity, and undoubtedly the 
Princetonian will receive a warm welcome. 

The Maker of Moons, by Robert W. Chambers. G. P. Putnam's Sons, 
New York. 

"The Maker of Moons" is an attractive book, inside and out. It is 
bound in blue and gold and contains eight stories, to the first of which 
belongs the title from which the book is named. This first tale, in the style 
of a detective story, is rather the most original in the book. It casts over 
the reader a weird spell, woven of dreams and Chinese mythology, and 
tangled up with the ordinary facts in the lives of ordinary men. Two or 
three of the stories are delightful little episodes in the experiences of lovers, 
full of humor, and spicy, natural conversation. A few have a more serious, 
even a tragic theme. In all there is evidenced a close observation of men, 
imparting throughout a tone of reality which almost persuades us to believe 
in the mysterious impossibilities to which we are introduced ; in fact, Mr. 
Chambers succeeds in making us quite at home in fairyland ere we are aware 
that we have left the material world at all. 

The Majestic Family Cook-Booh, by Adolphe Gallier. G. P. Putnam's 
Sons, New York. 

We take pleasure in acknowledging the receipt of " The Majestic Fam- 
ily Cook-Book," and feel sure that the " earnest efforts" of the chef of Hotel 


Majestic in New York will be duly welcomed and appreciated in every family 
to which this book finds its way. The volume is heavy with learning, of a 
culinary sort, and the attention of colleges, which arc but larger families, is 
especially called to so valuable an addition to the library. It is suggested 
that the library might at times lend the book to those who preside in the 
mystic regions of Domestic Hall. If some of the bills of fare in the begin- 
ning of the volume were to be tried, there might be for a while, indeed, 
greater uncertainty than at present as to what courses could be expected on 
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc., and the interest of conversation at col- 
lege tables would certainly be greatly increased and grow more racy with the 
introduction of little-neck clams, mashed Jerusalem artichokes, braised 
ducklings, Rouennese and Vol-au-vent, Financiere. But even if it is found 
necessary to confine the use of the " Cook-Book" to the library, for the most 
part, students will be interested in studying up the chafing dish recipes. 
From these copious notes can be taken with profit. The "Cook-Book" 
will certainly be a success, and it is hoped that all institutions of learning 
may be benefited thereby. Every college graduate should certainly have a 

Wellesley Lyrics, chosen and published by Cordelia C. Nevers, '96. 
The pretty little volume of "Wellesley Lyrics," appropriately bound 
in blue and white, and with the notes of the Wellesley Call on its cover, 
will be welcomed by all lovers of the College. The little book contains 
some of the best and deepest thought of the girls who are still in college, 
as well as of those who have gone out from their Alma Mater. The " Ly- 
rics " range from the gayest and lightest to those serious ones which embody 
the half-whispered hopes and aspirations of opening womanhood. The wide 
interests of many women are represented in these poems ; for they come 
straight from the heart and experience of those who have known not only 
the joy of living, but sometimes life's sorrows, too. The fun of college 
days, the healthy glow which comes from hard, sincere study, the friendly con- 
tact with books, music, and art, are all reflected here, in the form of grace- 
ful, easy verse which it is a pleasure to read. These " Lyrics" are the em- 
bodiment of high thoughts and pure imaginations which remember with 
loving gratitude the home where they have been trained and cherished ; and 
they are worthy of — The College Beautiful. 



TJie Story of Canada, by J. G. Bournot, C.M.G., LL.D., D.C.L. 
New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

English in American Universities, by William Morton Payne. Bos- 
ton : D. C. Heath & Co. 

Carlyle, Sartor Resartus, edited by Archibald MacMechan. Boston : 
Ginn & Co. 

Napolion. Extracts from Henri Martin, Victor Duruy, Memorial de 
Sainte Helene, Thiers, Chateaubriand, Edgar Quinet, Madame de Remusat. 
Edited by Alcee Fortier, D.Lt. Boston : Ginn & Co. 

Kopniclcerstrasse 120, by Moser and Heiden. Edited by Benj. W. 
Wells, Ph.D. Boston : D. C. Heath & Co., Publishers. 


The January exchanges show a number of serious articles of good qual- 
ity that betoken a proper state of mind for the mid-year examination period. 
But the fiction of the month is for the most part sombre and heavy hearted. 
We forbear to trace the time analogy further. 

The Yale Literary Magazine contains a forcible but very painful story, 
"The House of Rad," which, we think, does not justify itself for being. 
The subject matter is ugly, and the handling is not artistic enough to redeem 
it. " In Shadow" is a sad college tale, with the real pathos that we have all 
seen at college, in the overwrought, nerve-tired grind. There is a strong 
paper on " Lowell's Critical Essays," and some clever sketches appear in the 

In the Vassar Miscellany is an article on " The Need of Professionally 
Trained Teachers." This has some useful points for many of us, who leave 
college this year, as regards our place in the world. " On the Mountain," is 
a pathetic, well told story of dilettante philanthropy and its harm doing. The 
verse of this number is abundant in quantity but rather below the average in 

The Nassau Lit. has two light pleasant stories, " Prudence," and " A 
Drummer and Others." "The Cabin by the Bogs" is a grotesque Irish 


story, and interesting. From the verse of this number we quote the follow- 
ing graceful sonnet : — 

"on keading the sagas. 

Ye who have watched the stars a weary year 
And listened only to the endless woe 
Of night winds sobbing, melancholy, low, 
And stared at the mute earth in idle fear. 
Ye who the sad eternal tumult hear 
Of limitless tears that ever ebb and flow 
Around the world's shores, forever dream: 
Hark to this trumpet blast from long ago: 
" Again under a wide clear sky and free 
From our wild yearnings and the ancient pain; 
Silent, we stand out to a lonely sea, 
Ah! silent in the old fierce joy again. 
We taste the salt breath on the ocean main, 
And feel the long sea surging lustily." 

— Nassau Lit. 

The Smith Monthly is an interesting number. Among other things it 
contains a valuable view of the German University and its distinctive fea- 
ture. Here is a sentence or two : — 

For the aim of the German University is to extend the boundaries of Truth — apart from 
any utilitarian reference and with little attention to the individual student's development. It 
is therefore hardly to be compared with our college course, to which the gymnasium, an insti- 
tution quite distinct from the University, is supposed to correspond. And it is not much more 
closely allied to the English and American University, for these are usually organizations of 
which the college with its undergraduate work and ideas is a prominent part. 

The /Smith also contains an ambitious and fairly successful piece of 
verse-drama, " In the Turret Room," and the following " Sea Song "which 
has a good sea rhythm : — 


Heigh ho, for the dancing waves! 

And hark, to the breakers' roar! 
We'll run a race with the ocean-breeze, 

Along the sandy shore! 

Far, far in the azure skies, 

The sea-gulls float along — 
And here on the wind-blown cliffs we'll rest, 

And list to the mermaids' song. 


Deep, deep in sea-caves dim, 

Are the homes of the mermaids fair, 
And there they sit and sing, and sing, — 

And comb their dripping hair! 

Gold, gold their glistening locks! 

Blue, blue are their eyes, — 
Their bosoms are whiter than the foam, 

And whoever sees them dies ! 

Sing, sing to us on the cliffs ! 

We're tired and fain would sleep! 
But oh, to lie in your foam-white arms, 

At rest — in the restless deep ! 

— Smith Monthly. 

The Brown Magazine gives us a graphic account of " DatBigMeetin'," 
at the time of the Charleston earthquake ; and a bright character sketch in 
" Bob, the Bellman." 

In the Oberlin Review is a scholarly paper on the " Traditional Ballad 
of England and Scotland," and a curious Nihilist tale, " A Remarkable Sci- 
entific Discovery." 

One interesting essay of the month is "Impressionism," in the Trinity 

" Concerning College Poetics," in the Wesleyan, is suggestive, for col- 
lege verse is a puzzle to all of us. The writer considers the average verse 
maker a type of II Penseroso ; but adds the cheering belief that there is 
enough material in college life to supply poetic attempts. This is a view of 
the case that we are glad to hear and to accept. 

The Bowdoin Orient interests us in its mention of the numbers of stu- 
dents who teach school, and try to carry on their college work at the same 
time. The condemnation of such a thing is, of course, deserved. These two 
pigeons can hardly be brought to the ground with one stone. 

We add some of the best verse of the month. 


Last night I saw the slim moon rise, 

Faint o'er her clouds of rose bloom spread — 
A lingering touch of sunset hue. 

Then with their tender half-drawn sighs 
Awoke the winds the sleeping stars 

And bound them in the deepening blue. 


To dance upon the glittering snow 

From out the far North fairies came, 
Each clad in robes of shimmering mist; 

I heard the song they sang so low, 
So sweet as bubbling ice-bound brooks, 

By falling snowflakes lightly kiss'd. 

All in the sparkling frost-bound night 

I saw the dead flowers flutter forth 
To dance beside the fairies there. 

They shone with softened rainbow light, 
Their voices faint — sweet broken lutes 

Scarce echoed through the silent air. 

The dreamy music, faintly sweet, 

Crept o'er me, through me. Round and round 
Danced misty rainbow-tinted forms. 

The moon grew paler, sank to meet 
The sleeping hills. Then dawned afar 

From East to West the glowing morn. 

— ML Holyoke. 


A soft mysterious music seems to flow 

Within my room to-night, lingering along 

The shelves where sleep imprisoned ghosts of song, 
Whose fingers o'er dream harp-strings to and fro 
Awake dead melodies, now soft and low, 

Now fiercely beaten into passion strong, 

While swiftly to my gaze enchanted, throng 
And pass, lorn lovers famed in long ago, 
With many an armored knight and plodding swain — 

Forgotten worshipers at perished shrine. 
But, hark! each wandering, sweet, elusive strain 

Now softly blends in symphony divine, 
And back the vanished figures crowd again. 

Ah, Wizard Will, that master's touch was thine! 

— Wesley an Lit. 


Sunday, February 7. — 11.00 a. m. Rev. F. Mason North. 7.00 p. m. 

Rev. W. G. Puddefoot. "The Winning of the West.' 

A talk on Home Missions in the West. 
Monday, February 8. — Piano Recital, Mr. Carl Buonarnici. 


Saturday, February 13. — Lecture at 4.15 in the Chapel. Miss Addams 
of Hull House. 7.00 p.m. House of Commons. Gym- 

Sunday, February 14. — Rev. C. W. Julian. 

Saturday, February 20. — Barn Swallows. Gymnasium. 

Sunday, February 21. — Prof. George Harris of Andover. 

Monday, February 22. — Glee Club Concert. 

Saturday, February 27. — 7.30 p. m. Agora, Open Meeting. Gymna- 


The regular monthly meeting of the Agora w 7 as held in Elocution Hall, 
on January 16. The programme was as follows : — 

Impromptu speeches. 

The Greater New York Charter . . Mary North, '97. 
The Arbitration Treaty between the United 

States and England .... Mabel P. Wall, '97. 

Monetary Convention at Indianapolis . Gertrude Devol, '97. 

Recent Senate Nomination in New York . Louise Hutcheson, '97. 
The Trip of the President of France to 

Russia ...... Carrie Howell, '98. 

Cecil Rhodes Mary Capen, '98. 

Recent Extension of Life Saving Service, Miriam Hathaway, '97. 

Paper upon the Rights of Congress . . Elizabeth Seelman, '98. 

The following is the programme of the Phi Sigma Society meeting held 
January 23 : — 


I. Dramatic character of The Persians, The 
Suppliants, and The Seven Against 
Thebes ...... Clare von Wettberg. 

II. Prometheus Bound — Outlined . . Sarah Doyle. 

III. Prometheus Bound — Interpreted . . Mabel Eddy. 


The Classical Society held an open meeting in Elocution Hall, on Jan- 
uary 30, with the following programme : — 

I. The Development of the Tragedy from 

iEschylus to Euripides . . . Marcia Smith. 

II. Selections from the Three Great Trage- 
dians : 

a. Soliloquy from "Prometheus" of 

iEschylus Isabel Thyng. 

b. Ode from "Oedipus Coloneus " of 

Sophocles ..... Helen Bogart. 

„ ... „ C . T ,. . C Jane C. Finn. 

c. Recognition scene from " Iphigeneia \ . 

™ . „ „ -,-, . . , \ Harriet Carter, 

in Tauris of Euripides . . / ^ , , ^ . 

^ Ethelyn Price. 

At a social meeting of the Society on January 19, Miss Hester D. 

Nichols was initiated. 


Jan. 16. — Professor Coman lectured at four o'clock in the chapel on 
" Spain and the Cuban War." The lecture was one of the Current Topics 

The Class of '99 had a Mother-goose Party in the gymnasium that even- 
ing for Ninety-nines only( ?). The class history for the preceding year was 

Jan. 17. — Rev. Wm. E. Barton, of Boston, preached in the chapel at 
11 o'clock. 

Jan. 20 was the third anniversary of the death of Helen Almira Shafer, 
who had been for five years President of the College. 

Jan. 23. — A regular meeting of the Barn Swallows was held in the 
gymnasium at half-past seven o'clock in the evening. The programme was 
made up of scenes from " Cranford," and was as follows : — 

1. The tea party at Miss Jenkyns'. 

2. The visit to Mr. Holbrook. 

3. The tea party at Miss Betty Barker's. 

4. The preparations against burglars. 

5. Jim Hearn and Martha. 



The cast was : 

Captain Brown ..... Mary Haskell, '97. 

Miss Jenkyns ...... Geneva Crumb, '97. 

Miss Matty Daisy Flower, '97. 

Miss Jessie Brown ..... Bertha Hart, 1900. 

Miss Pole Maud Almy, '98. 

Miss Mary Smith Clara Purdy, '98. 

Mrs. Jamieson ..... Grace Hannum, '98. 

Mr. Holbrook . . . ' . . Evelyn Taft, Sp. 

Mrs. Forrester Mary Neal, 1900. 

Jim Hearn Mary Haskell, '97. 

Martha Bertha Hart, 1900. 

Miss Betty Barker ..... Louise Baldwin, '98. 

Peggy Geneva Crumb, '97. 

Jan. 24. — Rev. H. M. King, of Providence, preached at the regular 
morning service, at eleven' o'clock. 

Jan. 25. — Mr. Henry E. Krehbiel lectured in the chapel on Monday 
evening, on " Richard Wagner and his Art." Mr. Krehbiel was assisted by 
Mr. John C. Manning, who played pianoforte adaptations of many selec- 
tions from the Wagner operas. 

Jan. 27. — Professor Wenckebach lectured at 4.15 in the chapel, on 
the Leit-motifs of Wagner's operas. Friiulein Margarethe Miiller and 
Miss Eleanor Brooks, '98, played the principal motifs from most of the 
operas, while Professor Wenckebach explained them. This is the third 
year that Professor Wenckebach has given such a lecture for the benefit of 
the students who wish to gain a general knowledge of the structure of the 
operas, preparatory to the opening of the opera season in Boston. The 
lecture was largely attended. 

In the evening Professor Bates received the members of the class in Lit- 
erature XL at her home in the village. 

Jan. 28.— The Day of Prayer for Colleges. Rev. C. Cuthbert Hall, of 
Brooklyn, preached in the chapel in the morning at eleven o'clock. 

Dr. Hall spent Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at the College. 

Jan. 29. — The mid-year examinations began, to last until Saturday, 
February 6. 


Jan. 30. — The Class of '99 challenged the Class of 1900 to a snow 
fight. The battle was fought in and around the fort which the freshmen had 
built on the Art Building Hill. Miss Dewson, '97, and Miss Barker, '98, 
were umpires. The attacking party was at a disadvantage, both because the 
looseness of the snow made it very difficult to pack the balls, and because 
the flag to be captured was placed high up in an inner corner of the Art 
Building wall, just where it could be entirely defended by a very few, pro- 
vided those few could hold their ground. The freshmen understood the 
points in their own favor ; and without making even a feint at defending 
the fort itself, allowed their assailants to enter almost unresisted, while they 
themselves formed a solid phalanx in the coiner where the flag was hung. 
Three separate times a sophomore, lifted above the shoulders of her class- 
mates, struggled long and valiantly to walk to the flag over the sea of fresh- 
men heads or the side of the Art Building. But in vain. Despite the dry- 
ness of the snow, the freshmen were able to pelt the target thus raised so ef- 
fectually that the girl in each case was finally beaten down. At the end of 
forty-five minutes the flag of 1900 still flew from the corner, and the victory 
was adjudged to the challenged. The fight had been capital, and unmarred 
by the mutual recriminations that lent an afterglow to that between '96 and 
'97. Only two girls were put out for "tackling" — one freshman and one 
sophomore, who, in the heat of a tete-a-tete, forgot decorum. 

In the evening the Classical Society gave an open meeting. After a 
short informal reception, the following programme was presented : — 

I. The Development of the Tragedy from 

iEschylus to Euripides . . . Marcia Smith. 

II. Selections from the Three Great Trage- 

dians : — 

Soliloquy from " Prometheus" of iEs- 

chylus Isabel Thyng. 

Ode from "Oedipus Coloneus " of 

Sophocles Helen Bogart. 

T , . . . ( Jane C. Finn. 

Kecogmtion scene from " lphigenia in \ TT . .,, 

° -»,..., \ Harriet Carter. 

Tauris " of Euripides . . . / v ,, . ^ . 

1 C Ethelyn Trice. 

The evening closed with dancing and refreshments. 


. i 

Jan. 31. — Rev. C. Cuthbert Hall, of Brooklyn, conducted the regular 
morning service in the chapel. The Sacrament of the Holy Communion was 

At the January meeting of the Scientific Club, Dr. Agnes Claypole rend 
a paper on Movements of the Earth's Crust; their size and significance, and 
their bearing on World Evolution. 

Feb. 1. — The members of Society Tau Zeta Epsilon visited Prang 
& Co.'s lithographing establishment, near Roxbury. Through the kindness 
of the managers in charge, they were able to observe most of the processes 
carried on in this factory, and to examine specimens of the work. 

Owing to the heavy snowfalls of the past two weeks, the students have 
had little opportunity to enjoy the ice. For a great part of the time also the 
ice has been pronounced unsafe. There has been, so far, no coasting, and 
few sleighing parties, and the snow fight, together with the efforts of a few 
who are so fortunate as to possess snow shoes, have been our only bits of 
real winter sport during the examination period. Whether the new system 
of " credits," or unusually heavy schedules of elective courses, be the cause, 
certain it is that the students have had less leisure this year than at any 
examination period during the last four years, for out-of-door sports. 

Several weeks ago, before the heavy snowfall, some workmen, in dig- 
ging in the gravel-pits on the College grounds, just west of the chemistry 
laboratories, came upon an interesting find. A skeleton, probably that of a 
young Indian woman, was unearthed, and with it a pair of small old-fashioned 
scissors of English make. The skeleton has been given over to the charge 
of the Zoology Department, and will be examined by a specialist in 

A tribute of a new sort has lately been paid to our Alma Mater. A 
waltz, entitled "The Wellesley Waltz," dedicated to the " Teachers and 
Students of Wellesley College," has just appeared. The author is Mr. 
Clarence S. Hall, and the waltz is published by the Ryder Music Publishing 
Company of Chelsea, Mass. 

Mrs. Irvine is at home at Norumbega on Saturday evenings to receive 
all students. 




Whereas, It has seemed right to our all-loving Father to take to Him- 
self our friend and classmate, Agnes Sinclair Holbrook, 

■Resolved, — First, That as individuals and as members of the class of 
'92 of Wellesley College, we desire to express our loving appreciation of her 
versatile intellectual gifts, her attractive personality, and her loyal class 
fellowship; and that we extend to her bereaved family and large circle of 
personal friends our sincerest sympathy in their great trial. 

Resolved, — Second, That a copy of these resolutions be sent to the 
Wellesley Magazine, and another to the family. 

For the Class of '92, 

M. Gertrude Gushing. 
Louise Brown. 
M. Alice Emerson. 

Lucia Graeme Grieve, '83, is doing special work in Greek at Oxford 
University, England. 

During the illness of the Professor of Greek in Colorado University, 
Mrs. Mary Gilman Aiders, '88, has taken his classes. 

Sophonisba P. Breckenridge, '88, has lately been admitted to the bar in 

Susan Childs, '90, who is teaching in the Lynn, Mass., High School, 
visited Wellesley on January 23. 

Katherine F. Gleason, '91, is studying for a second degree at the Uni- 
versity of California. 

Helen A. Pierce, '91, has established a school at her home in Newton, 

N. J. 

Mary S. Ayres, formerly of '92, is leaching at Fort Benton, Montana. 
Address Box 152. 

Jennie M. Deyo, '93, is in Los Angeles, Cal. 


The address of Mrs. Edna Pressey Flagg, '94, is 92 Park Street, Port- 
land, Maine. 

The engagement of Ethel Stanvvood, '94, to Mr. Bolton, of Brookline, is 

Kate W. Nelson, '95, and Mary E. Field, '95, spent Sunday, Jan. 17, 
at the College. Miss Nelson has joined Superintendent Dutton's Training 
Class in Brookline. 

Angie F. Wood, '96, is teaching in the Newport, R. I., High School. 

Blanche S. Jacobs, '9(3, is teaching in a private school in Lowell, Mass. 
Her address is 279 Nesmith Street. 

The engagement of Jessie M. Durrell, formerly of '97, to Mr. James 
Hubert Grover, of Lynn, Mass., is announced. The marriage will take 
place in June. 

Katherine White, Sp., '82-85, visited the College on Feb. 1, 1897. 

Louise H. R. Grieve, M.D., Sp., '83-84, is about to return after two 
years of very successful medical mission work in Ceylon. During a recent 
extended trip through India she was entertained by Mrs. Ruby Harding Fair- 
bank, '83, and Mrs. Gertrude Chandler Wyckoff, '79. 

Mary L. French, Sp., '86-88, is living on a ranch, at Pomona, Cal. 

Mrs. Marjorie Spaulding Renfrew, Sp., '93-95, visited College last week. 

Miss Sara Emerson, formerly Associate Professor of Old Testament 
History, spent Sunday in Wellesley. 

The South California Wellesley Club was delightfully entertained by 
Miss Nancy K. Foster at her home in Los Angeles on Thursday afternoon, 
Dec. 31, 1896. The chief amusement of the afternoon was in solving the 
"Bishop of Oxford's Riddles. " Miss Mira Jacobus, proving herself an ex- 
pert in the art, was rewarded with a neatly framed picture of the Wellesley 
first floor centre. As usual, college songs were sung, and college changes 
discussed. Miss Maude B. Foster gave an interesting account of her visit at 
the College last spring and summer. During the afternoon the work of the 


Settlement in Los Angeles was presented, and it was decided to form a 
Wellesley Chapter. The members of the Club present were : Mrs. Mary 
Me main Coman, '84, of Pasadena, Miss French, '8(5-88, of Pomona, Misses 
Shields, '92-93, Deyo, '93, Jacobus, '88-91, Nancy K. Foster, '83-85, Leona 
Lebus, '89, Bertha Lebus, '91, Davis, '83-84, of Los Angeles, and Aurelia 
Harwood, '83-86, of Ontario. 

The midwinter social meeting of the Worcester Wellesley Club took the 
form of an afternoon tea, which was given Jan. 5, 1897, at the home of Mrs. 
Florence Schofield Thayer. Among the guests of the afternoon were five of 
the Worcester girls now at Wellesley, and several high school seniors, who 
are thinking of going to Wellesley. Letters of regret were read from Mrs. 
Durant, Professor Lord, and Dr. Webster. The present membership of the 
Club is almost sixty. The Club is very glad to welcome Mrs. Anna Stock- 
bridge Tuttle, '80, who, as wife of the pastor of the Union Congregational 
Church, has recently come to Worcester. The officers of the Club for this 
year are : president, Mrs. Mary Jenks Page, '89 ; vice president, Harriet R. 
Pierce, '88 ; secretary and treasurer, Mary W. Lincoln, '93. 

The Wellesley Club met on Saturday afternoon, Jan. 23, 1897, with 
Miss Morse, at her beautiful home, 4804 Greenwood Avenue, Kenwood, 
Chicago. Miss Ada Belfield, the president, presided. A new constitution 
was read and discussed. Miss Peabody was elected vice president, and Miss 
Ellen Capps, secretary. Refreshments were served after the business meet- 
ing. Those present were : Misses Belfield, Pitkin, Brooks, Wilkinson, 
Ferris, Rhodes, Stinson, Capps, Pike, Caryl, Ne-uberger ; Mesdames Bry- 
ant, Weir, Elizabeth Mayse Christy, Grace Gruber Cloyes. Miss Charlotte 
T. Sibley was a guest of the Club. 


Ward-Smeallie.— Dec. 29, 1896, Miss Flora A. Smeallie, '86, to Mr. 
Frank M. Ward. At home, 145 Oak Street, Binghamton, N. Y. 

Montgomery-Williamson. — In Chicago, Jan. 11, 1897, Miss Caroline 
L. Williamson, '89, to Dr. Frank Hugh Montgomery. At home after Mar. 
'1, 1897, 3230 Michigan Avenue. 


Smyth-McChesney. — On Nov. 7, 1896, Miss Anna Kimbey McChesney, 
'96, to Mr. Paul Howard Smyth. 

Kempfer-Newcomb. — In Worcester, Mass., Jan. 1, 1897, Miss Mari- 
etta Newcomh, Sp., '89-90, to Mr. Jacobus Frei Kempfer. 

Fentress-Addeman. — In Providence, R. I., Jan. 7, 1897, Miss Grace 
Louise Addeman to Mr. James Fentress. At home, 118 Pine Street, Chi- 
cago, 111. 


In Philadelphia, Pa., Jan. 26, 1897, a daughter to Mrs. Anna Robertson 
Brown Lindsay, '83. 

At Pasadena, Cal., Nov. 13, 1896, a son, Seymour Ellis, to Mrs. Mary 
Merriam Coman, '84. 

In Brooklyn, N. Y., Jan. 11, 1897, a daughter, Isabel Detning, to Mrs. 
Annie Preston Bassett, formerly of '89. 

In Waltham, Mass., Nov. 13, 1896, a son to Mrs. Helen Nourse Jack- 
son, '89. 

In Umballa, Punjab, India, Dec. 10, 1896, a son to Mrs. Katherine 
Conner Fisher, '95. 


In Arlington, Mass., Jan. 31, 1896, the mother of Henrietta E. Hardy, 

In Plainfield, N. J., Nov. If), 1896, the father of S. Lena Bass, '90. 

In Lake Park, Minn., Jan. 20, 1897, Mr. Thomas Hawley Canfield, 
father of Marion Canfield, '94. 





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je c^o'vcrisrs. 

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exclusive and original designs of Homespuns, Canvases and Cheviots, 
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"OUR attention is called to our assortment of 

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We respectfully invite you to visit our store, whether you purchase or not. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

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Application may be made to the 

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Street Costumes, Bicycling 
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Evening Gowns, Wraps, Mantles, Etc. 

Choicest imported materials, artistic and ap- 
propriate in cut, finest workmanship. 

Special inducements to young ladies. 

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The more light the more good 
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Perfect satisfaction in every purchase, 
and that backed up to the letter. Men- 
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Large variety 

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Delicious Ice Cream Soda. Mail orders receive 
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The Young Ladies' Attention is called to something 

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The Young Ladies should make a special examination of these Waists, as they are 

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335 Washington Street, Boston. 

College Athletic and Gymnasium Outfitters. 


Crew Sweaters and Jerseys, which are also suitable for all athletic purposes, made to order in any 

style in the best manner. 
A Discount of 10 per cent is given Wellesley students on individual orders. Special net rates for crew or team orders. 


MR ^^A^ 

Photographer to the Class of '97 

Nos. 74 and 88 Boylston Street, 




The elegant Sabine Edition of Eugene Field ; Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co.'s beautiful editions of the American authors, 
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ALL the Standard Editions of Dickens, Thackeray, Bulwer, 
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rate of $1 or $2 per month, will be satisfactory. 

Prices charged are guaranteed to be the lowest cash 

Address, "X," 

Care of Wellesley flagazine. 


Rooms 1, 2 and 3 

218 Boylston Street 



Tailor-made Costumes and 


No. 344 Boylston Street 



Royal Worcester Corsets, $1.00, $1.25, 
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R. & Q. Corsets, 75 cts., $1.00, $1.25, and 

Ferris Good Sense Waists, 75 cts., $1.00, 
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Jackson Waists, $1.25, $1.50. 

Equipoise Waists, $1.75, $2.00, $2.25, and 

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E, IV. Hodgson & Company, 

Eyes scientifically tested, $1.00. 

Glasses (rimless if desired), $/.jo ; Gold, $3.50, 
and upward. Astigmatic Lenses, $1.00 additional. 
Prescriptions filled at these prices. Ophthahnic opti- 
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Best Watch Work and Watches in the city. Mr. 
Hodgson recently head -watchmaker for Messrs. 
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years -with The Shreve, Crump dc Low Co. 

Special prices to Students on Watchwork. 

7 Temple Place, Roo?n 4.4., Boston. 

Take Elevator. 

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the Quarter ; Lessons given Day or Evening. 

j^Agent for J. F. Luscomb's Latest Banjos^t 
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172 Tremont Street, Room 36, 


E>r. Charles H. Veo 

(D.M.D., Harvard University) 

Dr. Louis n. Veo 

(D.M.D., Harvard University) 


Crown and Bridge = Work 

Lady Assistant always in Attendance 

Hotel Pelham, 74 Boylston Street 



Passe Partout ana Frame mater. 

Maps, Panels, and Velvet Work. 
Old Engravings Restored. 

Wood and Gold Frames of the Latest 

338 Washington St., Boston. 

TF you will try Mrs. Dr. J. E. Bishop's 


you will be relieved of headaches caused 
by loss of sleep, overwork, or nervous- 

Mrs. Dr. J. E. Bishop, 

Hotel Pelham, 74 Boylston Street, Boston. 


Penhallow Tales, by Edith Robinson, with cover 

design by C. B. Murphy. Cloth, octavo, $1.25. 

The title of Miss Robinson's book is taken from the opening 

story, which it will be remembered created no little attention 

sometime ago when it appeared in The Century. 

More Songs from Vagabondia, by Bliss Carman 
and Richard Hovey, with new designs by T. B. 
Meteyard. Paper, boards, $1.00. 

Companion volume to " Songs from Vagabondia," now in 
its third edition. 

No. 69 Cornhill, Boston. 



These Steamers are appointed to sail from BOSTON 

These new and immense steamships are the largest vessels 
sailing from Boston, and have a limited number of staterooms 
for first cabin passengers at very moderate rates. No steerage 

The staterooms are large and roomy, and are located on 
the top of Bridge Deck, thus insuring the best of ventilation. 

WINTER RATES, $45 and $50; Excursion, $85 and $0C. 

The Adams Cable Codex. The most complete cipher code 
issued for circulation among travellers. 

For passage, cabin plans, etc., apply to 


General Passenger Agents, 
115 State Street, cor. Broad Street, . . . BOSTON. 



Makers of 


to the 


^^j^^rlllustrated Catalogue and Particulars on Application^^»?6> 



Headquarters for 



Ladies' Handkerchiefs. 


*%£ Temple Place, Boston. 

Shreve, Crump I Low Go. 
Jewelers *» Silversiitus, 


Fine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Programs a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 


. .ONLY. . 

First Glass THroii Gar 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 

8.30 a. m. (except Sunday) Day Express. 
IO.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (except Sunday) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


. . FOR . . 

Hartford, New Haven <p New York. 



9.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 3. 30 p. m. 

11.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 5.28 p. m. 

12.00 m. (except Sunday) 5.32 p. m. 

4.00 p. m. (daily). 10.00 p. m. 

(New Equipment built by the Pullman Co.) 

11.00 p.m. (daily) 6.41a.m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., apply 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Agent. 



The attention of students is called to our 
new Carbonettes. These are photographic 
reproductions in brown tone, closely imita- 
ting imported Carbons, but at our usual 
prices. We have added also a new line of 
picture frames especially adapted for students' 
rooms, giving artistic effects at very reasona- 
ble prices. 

Soule Photograph Co., 

338 Washington Street, Boston. 

Wright & Ditson. 

new England's leading athletic outfitters. 

Every Requisite for . . . 

Athletic Sports and Pastimes 

Colf, Tennis, basket ball, 
skating, etc. 

Gymnasium, Fencing and Outing Uniforms 
of every description. 

Prompt and careful attention given to mail orders. 

Wright & Ditson, 

:no. 344 Washington Street, Boston, Mass 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 

Wellesley College. 
Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year; 

Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 




IHHelleslei? jpbarmaap, 



Fine Stationery and Engraving House 

1121 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 



Heraldry and Genealogy a Specialty. 

Coats of Arms Painted for Framing. 


oman's Medical College of the 

New York Infirmary for Women and Children. 

AESSION '96-97 opens October 1, 1896. Four years, Graded Course. 
^^ Instruction by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under 
supervision in Laboratories, and Dispensary of College, and in New York 
Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals and Dis- 
pensaries open to Women Students. For Catalogues, etc., address 

321 East Fifteenth Street, 
New York. 




Fine Tortoise Shell Goods. 

Salesroom, 7 TEMPLE PLACE. 

Factory, 363 Washington St., BOSTON. 

Special discount to Wellesley Students. 

Stationer and Picture Dealer. 

Special attention given to Framing 
Pictures at reasonable prices. &&& 

It is of easy access by the Electric Cars. 

No. 2 riain Street, Natick, Mass. 


Trimmed and Untrimmed Hats. 
Bicycle and Walking Hats a Specialty. 

Our Dress-lining Department is the 
largest in the city. Jt «^t ^t & & & 
Special prices to Wellesley Students. 



IHellesley Preparatory, 


For circular address the Principals, 


Established 1843. Incorporated 1895. 


Largest Stock and Lowest 
Prices on 


Mathematical Instruments, 

Drawing Materials and Picture Frames 



Importers and Wholesale Dealers, 

1 Special Rates to Colleges." 

New Illustrated Catalogue Free. 



It is generally conceded that a stringed instrument 
is almost an absolute necessity To secure the 
greatest enjoyment from the purchase get the best 
your money will afford. Expert judgment 
pronounces the "Bay State" instruments 
the finest in the world. An excellent instru- 
ment is the 


We have in stock cheaper banjos than this, 
bul for a substantial, serviceable instrument 
at a low price, no other instrument manufac- 
tured can compare with it. Send for illus- 
trated catalogue. 

453-463 Washington Street, Boston. 




FULL LINE of Hand Cameras and 
Material^^^Negatives Developed. 
Prints Made and Mounted^^*^^^ 


Wellesley Graduates are always in demand. 
Register now. 


William F. Jarvis, Manager. 

Send for registration blanks and circulars 



STATION EFTY>^~*^^ j- j- 

A Large Variety in the Latest Styles. 

PRl NTI NG^^ ^jtjtjtjtjtjt 

First-Class Work. Prompt Service. 

Fancy Goods, Novelties, Picture Frames, 
Bicycles, etc., etc. 


16 Main Street, Nalick, Mass. 

Class and Society Printing a Specialty. 

We Guarantee Satisfaction. 

"The Bulletin Press," 

■ 8 Main Street, Natick, Mass. 

IVld CjlOVeS, Hosiery, Underwear and Ribbons, Embroidery 
Silks, Stamped Linens, Denims, Art Muslins, and Cretonnes.«5M«^ 

J. B. Leamy, Natick, Mass. 

IO per cent discount to all 

Professors and Students of 
Wellesley College. 

Artists'. . . 

Drafting Instruments. Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

warjswonn. Howiand & Co., e& 82 ami 84 Washington Si., Boston. 

Branch Store in the Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, near St. James Avenue. Principal Factories, Maiden, 

Mass., and South Paris, Maine. 


L i ght^c^,^^ E asy ^t^t^t^t Fir m 
Also the most reasonable in price. 




Prescription Opticians, 

New York Medical College and Hospital for Women. 

New York City, 213 West 54th St. 


Thirty -fourth Annual Course of Lectures began October 2, 1896. 

Curriculum includes a Four Years' Graded Course of Study, 
happily interspersing Didactic and Clinical Lectures, to- 
gether with Practical Anatomy, Chemical and Histo- 
logical Laboratory Work, so as to give the broadest 
cultivation with the least possible fatigue to the 
students. Everything promised in the An- 
nouncement rigidly adhered to. 

J. de la M. LOZIER, M.D., Sci.D., Dean, 

135 West 34th St., New York City. 
For information, address 

M. BELLE BROWN, M.D , Sec'y, 

'35 VVest 34th Street, New York City. 


Evangeline Hathaway, '90, is organizing a private party 
for the summer of '97. An experienced conductor will accom- 
pany the party. Address her at u Beacon Street, Boston. 

1bujb Class 

-Carfc anfc fl>art£ aSnoravinfc 

Special ^Discount to TUflcllealcv; 5tuoent8 


Imperil your health by going 
without your luncheon when 
you can find such dainty, pal- 
atable, and nutritious food for 
moderate prices, atJt,Jt,J>Jt,Jt.jt, 

doors Lames' luqgd, 



All orders for articles per- 
taining to dinners or desserts 
and for the service of parties 
will be carefully executed«^«5t 

Kyanizing Plant 

for the 



Capacity of tanks, 150,000 feet. Splen- 
did equipment. Good railroad facili- 
ties. Prompt service. Thorough 
and careful treatment. Ad- 
dress all correspondence to 


Lowell, Mass. 

We sell 

High Grade 


At price of LOW GRADE elsewhere. 


< Wegman 
I Guild 
I Jacob's 

THIS COUPON 1S C00D F0R $25.00 




B0YLST0N PIANO CO., m Boyiston st 

Perfect Comfort 

For women and positive style. That's what we studied 
for. That's what we have. Not a toe crowded. Noth- 
ing to pinch or hurt. 

TheH. H. "TuttleShoe" 

is made on men's lasts. Has that graceful outside 
swing that gives the little toe breathing room. Double- 
soled calf for those who want heavy shoes. Lighter 
grades for others. $4 to $8 is the price. Discount to 
Students and Faculty. 

H. H. TUTTLE & CO., 

Washington St., cor. Winter Street. 

The Fisk Teachers' Agencies. 

4 Ashburton Place, Boston, Mass. 

70 Filth Avenue, New York City, N. Y. 
1242 Twelfth Street, Washington, D. C. 
35S Wabash Avenue, Chicago, 111. 

25 King Street, West Toronto, Canada. 

420 Century Building, Minneapolis, Minn. 

107 Keith & Perry Building, Kansas City, Mo. 
72S Cooper Building, Denver, Col. 

525 Stimson Block, Los Angeles, Cal. 


Photographs in all colors by the Carbon Process. 

Enlarged or reduced copies of Paintings, Engrav- 
nigs, etc. These photographs are absolutely per- 
manent, and of the greatest artistic merit. 


?*o. 145-A Tremont Street, Boston, Mass. 
X. Irviia Chapman. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Oriental Carpets and Rugs. Axminsters, Wilton and 

Brussels Carpets. 

We are now ready to show the finest line we ever opened in 

Foreign and Domestic Carpets. 

All new in style, and adapted to the present furnishings. 
Our own special patterns. Our open stock is full at prices lower than ever. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Near Cornhlll. 

163 to 169 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. 

In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Professors and 
Students a discount, generally 10 per cent. 

We deliver all goods free of express charges at Wellesley College and Dana Hall. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place, - - BOSTON, MASS. 


P, .-£ 

C o • 

■g * > 

S 2 § 


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O. C 







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j= >- 

u> 3 

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Ladies' and Children's 

Specialty Garment House. 

Young Ladies' Coats, Suits, 
Wraps, Fur Capes, Rain-proof 
Garments, Silk Petticoats, 
and Tea Gowns. 

The Latest Paris and Berlin Novelties 

Always in Stock at 
Moderate Prices. . . 

531 and 533 Washington Street, Boston 

Next door to Boston Theatre. 

b'rank Wood, Printer, Boston.